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OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

IN  MEMORY  OF 

James  J.  McBride 

PRESENTED  BY 

Margaret  McBride 


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MANTELL    AS    ROUBILLAC 


THE  DAGGER  AND 
THE  CROSS 


E  Romance 


BY 


JOSEPH     HATTON 

Author  of  ♦'  Bv  Order  of  the  Czar,"  "  An  Exile's  Daughter,'*  Etc.,  Esc 


NEW  YORK 
R.  F.  FENNO  &  COMPANY 

9  AND  II  EAST  I  6th  street 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1897,  by 

Peter  Fenelon  Collier 
In   the  Office  of  the  I,ibrarian  of  Congress  at  Washington 


The  Vaguer  and  the  Cross 


4759 

H78da. 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE 
CROSS 


CHAPTER  ONE 

THE   MUSIC   OF  THE   SWORD 

"Thou  knowest,  Pisani,  I  am  no  swords- 
man, and  if  be  kill  me,  then  Francesca  becomes 
bis  prey.  Tbe  thougbt  of  it  puts  me  on  tbe 
rack." 

"Let  it  ratber  nerve  thy  arm,  good  Sig'nor 
Roubillac,  and  I  will  teach  thee  how  to  meet 
thine  enemy,"  replied  tbe  master,  who  had 
brought  from  Toledo  the  art  of  Tubal  Cain, 
and  not  alone  the  craft  to  fashion  a  blade,  but 
how  to  use  it. 

"'Tis  said  he  has  slain  as  many  rival  lovers  as 
he  has  achieved  conquests  over  women.  What 
he  is  pleased  to  call  his  art  of  sculpture  he  uses 
as  opportunity  for  his  amours.  His  passion  of 
adventure  hath  its  chief  excitement  in  the 
duello." 

"I  have  heard  no  less;  but  there  is  a  trick  of 
play  shall  win  thee  rest  from  his  persecution,  if 
thou  wilt  have  as  much  patience  to  learn  as 
thou  hast  to  achieve  thine  own  greatness  in 
the  arts  of  peace." 

(3) 


4        THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

"I  will  be  patient,  good  Pisani;  and  if  it 
please  thee,  we  will  begin  our  practice  at  once." 

"What  new  offense  hath  he  committed  that 
should  approve  such  haste?  Hadst  thou  been 
ardent  in  choler  as  thou  art  in  good  deeds,  thou 
shouldst  have  taken  counsel  with  me  long  ere 
this." 

"I  bow  k)  thj  rebuke,  'tis  well  deserved;  and 
I  will  confess  to  thee,  more  than  once,  Pisani,  it 
has  been  in  my  heart  to  stab  him  while  he  has 
been  off  his  guard — the  Mother  of  God  forgive 
me!  Nay,  and  it  was  whispered  in  my  ear, 
methought,  that  such  would  be  a  righteous  deed. " 

"Love  and  jealousy  need  no  counsel  from  the 
devil,  Signor  Roubillac,  but  I  would  not  have 
thee  stain  thy  soul  with  dishonor.  If  'twere 
within  the  compass  of  possibility  that  he  should 
give  thee  just  cause  to  slay  him  where  he  stood, 
unprepared,  then  no  discredit  might  fall  on  thee; 
but  the  Signora,  thy  wife,  is  of  too  rare  a  virtue 
for  such  likelihood,  and  'twere  a  wrong  to  her 
and  thee  to  have  her  name  commingled  with  so 
grave  a  scandal,  even  as  an  encounter  in  her 
defense.  I  would  advise  some  other  course  of 
quarrel  than  that  which  afflicts  thee." 

"None  knows  better  than  thou,  Pisani,  how 
beyond  suspect  hath  ever  been  the  woman  who, 
first  giving  me  the  opportunity  to  win  an  ever- 
lasting fame  in  my  Angel  of  the  Ascension,  gave 
me  the  privilege  to  be  her  slave  and  her  pro- 
tector." 

"Nay,  that  is  to  put  the  rights  of  a  husband 
below  the  dignity  of  marriage  and  thine  own 


THE    DAGGER    AND   THE   CROSS  5 

merits,  Signor  Roubillac ;  but  all  Venice,  not  to 
mention  Verona  where  she  was  born,  can  bear 
witness  to  the  many  and  supreme  virtues  of 
Francesca  Roubillac.  And  methinks  'twere  the 
wisest  thing  to  let  herself  be  her  own  defense; 
Giovanni  Ziletto  is  not  the  first  gallant  who  has 
envied  thee. ' ' 

"And  so  I  had  resolved,  dear  friend,  and 
would  still  continue  in  that  purpose,  but  that  he 
has  developed  a  strange  power  over  her,  which 
has  made  his  attentions  not  only  an  offense  but 
a  terror.  Whether  'tis  the  evil  eye  or  whether 
'tis  by  some  strange  magic,  I  know  not,  but  to 
name  him  even  in  her  hearing  seems  to  invoke 
a  strange  power  that  brings  her  fearful  to  my 
side." 

"I  once  met  the  evil  eye,  as  'tis  called,  in 
Florence,"  said  the  SAVordsman.  "He  was  a 
master  whose  blade  was  said  to  whisper  and 
shriek  in  the  combat,  with  a  devilish  impulse; 
but  I  closed  his  evil  eye,  Signor  Roubillac.  And 
in  Venice,  here,  in  the  little  garden  of  the  palace 
of  the  Duke,  and  in  his  gracious  presence,  I  met 
yet  another,  gifted  'twas  avowed  with  weird 
and  unholy  influences,  possessed  of  a  sword  that 
had  been  hammered  into  shape  at  Damascus, 
and  sharpened  in  an  enchanter's  cave,  and  I 
know  not  what;  but  believe  me — and  thou 
shouldst  know — there  is  no  magic  road  to  ex- 
cellence, no  partnership  of  the  devil,  nor  any 
charm  known  to  man  that  will  make  a  painter 
without  genius  and  labor,  any  more  than  a 
swordsman  can  be  made  without  tutorship  and 


6        THE  DAnOER  AND  THE  CROSS 

a  blade  fit  for  his  skill.  My  master  was  the 
famous  Swordsman  of  Seville.  Why,  thou  art 
half  a  Spaniard  thyself;  and  so  true  is  Nature, 
it  may  be  that  the  impulse  of  the  dagger  thou 
speakest  of  is  a  heritage  of  th}"  mother's  country 
— for  'twas  oftener  the  knife  than  the  sword 
they  used  when  I  studied  in  Seville,  and  an  out- 
raged lover  did  not  always  deem  it  necessary  to 
give  his  enemy  an  equal  chance  of  life  and  death 
when  he  summoned  him  to  judgment.  But  we 
of  Venice  have  a  nicer  law  of  morals ;  or  we  as- 
sume it  so,  and  that  is  enough  for  men  of  honor." 

They  were  singularly  opposite  in  character  and 
appearance,  these  two  friends;  the  swordsman 
alert,  clean-cut  of  limb,  his  party-colored  hose 
and  loose  open  shirt  a  picturesque  note  against 
the  more  somber  go"\\Ti  of  the  painter. 

The  power  of  the  afternoon  sun  was  modified 
b}^  outer  shutters ;  but  the  lapping  of  the  water 
without  sent  a  dancing  reflection  upon  the  fres- 
coed ceiling,  and  now  and  then  caught  the  radi- 
ance of  Pisani's  little  armory  that  decorated  the 
walls  of  his  popular  school.  Once  in  a  way  the 
usual  silence  of  this  particular  quarter  of  the  city 
was  broken  in  upon  by  the  blare  of  a  warlike 
trumpet  above  the  music  of  some  festal  chorus, 
for  the  A^enetians  were  fitting  out  one  of  their 
latest  expeditions  against  the  Turk,  and  the  sun- 
ny air  was  busy  with  pronunciamentos  thereof. 
But  Pisani  and  Roubillac  found  in  the  happiness 
of  Francesca  matter  of  far  greater  moment  than 
all  the  schemes  of  Doge  and  Council,  and  all 
the  messages  of  trumpets  and  banners.     Pisani 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  7 

had  been  her  father's  friend,  and  Roubillac  was 
her  husband. 

"While  the  swordsman  was  recalling  reminis- 
cences of  conquests  over  alleged  supernatural 
powers,  that  he  might  thereby  strengthen  Rou- 
billac's  confidence  in  his  advice  and  forecasts,  he 
was  fondling  a  shining  taper  blade  with  a  hilt 
that  seemed  part  of  his  strong  yet  pliant  wrist. 
He  bent  it  as  a  bow,  and  flicked  it  forth  again. 
It  was  almost  like  a  whip  to  whistle  and  sing  as 
he  played  with  it. 

"Yes,  my  friend,  it  sings  to  me  many  a  glori- 
ous song,"  said  Pisani,  with  a  smile  that  lighted 
up  his  sharp  features,  "and  it  has  memories. 
Man}^  a  time  it  has  spoken  to  me,  as  it  did  when 
it  parried  the  first  thrust  of  the  evil  eye;  and  it 
has  a  grim  and  startling  laugh.  Nay,  Signer 
Roubillac,  every  man  to  his  trade.  Do  not  your 
radiant  colors  sing  to  you  on  your  palette?  Are 
there  not  notes  of  var3'ing  cadence  as  j'ou  range 
them  for  your  canvas?  Methinks  your  brush 
made  music  that  was  divine  when  it  began  the 
creation  of  that  angel  which  the  people  almost 
worship  above  the  altar  of  San  Stefano,  taking 
her  for  our  beloved  Mary  herself  in  some  holy 
masquerade  of  angelic  shape." 

He  whipped  the  air  with  his  blade  and  took  no 
heed  of  Roubillac 's  remark  that  to  speak  so  of 
his  work  was  to  speak  profanely.  The  painter 
crossed  himself,  at  which  Pisani  turned  an  in- 
quiring face  to  him. 

"I  did  but  protest  against  thy  irreverence  of 
the  Holy  Mother,"  said  Roubillac. 


8        THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

"No  irreverence,  my  freind.  Father  Castelli 
was  wont  to  say  the  Mother  of  God  doth  often 
walk  on  earth,  doing  acts  of  grace  in  humhle 
guise;  but  I  cry  you  mercy,  if  I  have — " 

"Nay,  good  Pisani,  no  offense.  I  was  think- 
ing more  of  the  unworthiness  of  my  own  handi- 
work than  what  for  the  moment  seemed  to  be  an 
irreverence  on  thy  part;  and  I  feel  the  blame  of 
it,  when  the  name  of  Father  Castelli  rises  to  thy 
lips  for  a  defense  of  thy  religious  philosophy." 

"Ah,  Signor  Roubillac,  we  miss  our  dear 
friend  and  confessor,  the  pious  Castelli,  whose 
knowledge  of  the  world  and  man's  natural  in- 
firmities made  him  ever  kindly  and  forgiving. 
I  had  the  honor  of  a  letter  from  him,  come  yes- 
terday was  a  month." 

"Say'st  thou  so?  And  yet  he  hath  never 
writ  to  me." 

"'Twas  brought  me  by  the  hand  of  a  ship's 
master,  trading  to  the  Levant,  and  had  come 
overland  a  great  way  to  the  English  coast,  he 
said ;  but  there  was  little  of  note  in  it,  though  he 
did  make  inquiries  after  thee  and'the  Signora, 
and  bade  me,  if  ever  I  had  opportunity,  to  let 
him  know  how  it  fared  with  Signor  Roubillac." 

"I  thank  his  reverence;  but  was  that  all?" 

"He  did  seem  to  imp'/  that  an  agent  was  on 
his  way  to  Venice,  or  likely  to  be  anon,  with 
commissions  for  craftsmen  and  artists  to  carry 
their  genius  and  their  tools  to  England ;  but  if 
that  were  so,  we  should  have  news  in  due  time." 

"And  said  he  naught  of  his  English  home?" 

"That  'twas  lovely  if  it  had  but  our  Venetian 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS        9 

skies,  gay  if  it  had  but  our  Venetian  mirth  and 
music,  holy  if  it  had  but  our  devotees ;  a  moun- 
tain village  they  call  Eyam,  set  on  the  side  of  a 
hill,  with  rugged  cliffs  near  by  and  vast  stretches 
of  moorlands ;  a  primitive  people ;  his  home,  the 
Old  Hall,  so-called,  and  his  host  and  hostess  of 
liberal  minds,  and  a  lavish  table ;  and  so  he  bore 
his  exile." 

"Thou  hast  known  Father  CasteUi  long?" 
"All  my  life  that  was  not  spent  in  Spain;  and 
'twas  from  him  that  I  received  such  scholarship 
as  thou  hast  honored  me  with  commending. 
Signer,  as  something  unlikely  in  a  mere  swords- 
man, an  artificer  of  blades,  a  teacher  of  the  art 
of  attack  and  defense.  But  we  waste  time ;  'tis 
ever  so  with  thee.  Signer  Roubillac;  once 
another's  interests  and  affairs  break  in  upon 
thine  own  'tis  like  thee  to  depart  and  forget  why 
thou  earnest  abroad.  Nay,  off  with  thy  gown 
and  vest,  and  it  shall  go  ill  with  me,  but  I  will 
arm  thee  against  the  reprobate  Ziletto." 

And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  Pisani,  the  swords- 
man of  Venice,  began  to  teach  Roubillac,  the 
painter,  to  meet  Ziletto,  the  sculptor,  who  had 
made  his  sword  a  passport  to  fame  that  he  could 
never  hope  to  achieve  with  clay  or  marble,  even 
had  he  so  desired ;  but  he  only  affected  to  be 
dilettante  in  the  plastic  art,  of  which  he  rather 
assumed  the  position  of  the  patron  than  the 
sculijt<n'.  For  he  was  nobly  born,  and,  though 
he  had  squandered  much  of  his  fortune,  a  man 
of  wealth,  who  might  vie  with  some  of  the  rich- 
est in  the  licpublic.     As  for  his  art,  followed 


10  THE   DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS 

with  some  show  of  Hking  and  success — for  there 
often  came  modelers  and  sculptors  of  repute  to 
his  studio  in  Florence,  where  he  entertained 
with  lavish  state — there  were  reckless  and  irre- 
sponsible companions  of  his  revels  that  vowed  he 
had  a  contempt  for  the  graphic  arts  one  and  all, 
and  for  any  other  but  the  arts  of  gallantry  and 
love;  though  that  which  they  called  gallantry 
was  a  libel  on  manhood,  and  their  love  was  a  no 
less  selfish  and  degrading  passion. 


CHAPTER  TWO 

THE   COURTSHIP   AND  MARRIAGE  OP  ROUBILLAC, 
THE   PAINTER 

Before  Francesca  came  into  his  life,  Ber- 
nardo Roubillac  was  a  dreamer,  without  ambi- 
tion. His  mind  was  filled  with  its  own  beautiful 
images.  Woman  had  hitherto  appealed  to  him 
only  as  a  type  of  the  heavenly  beauty  that  he 
strove  to  realize  on  canvas.  His  career,  if  not 
illustrious,  was  assured.  He  loved  his  art  for 
Art's  sake,  and  his  patron  always  told  him  that 
fame  would  follow. 

But  history  proves  to  us  that  no  great  work 
was  ever  produced,  no  great  deed  ever  accom- 
phshed,  without  the  impulse  of  a  great  love, 
whether  it  be  of  woman  or  country,  or  parents 
or  children;   some  strong  human  motive,  that 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS       11 

gives  the  right  direction  to  ambition  and  waits 
upon  the  aspirations  of  genius. 

It  was  Francesca  that  inspired  the  art  of  Rou- 
billac;  but  with  passion  comes  unrest,  and  with 
happiness  the  trail  of  the  serpent  that  sooner  Or 
later  shadows  all  that  is  beautiful  in  this  incom 
plete  world. 

There  is,  however,  an  undying  consolation  in 
the  knowledge  that  beauty  can  never  be  wholly 
effaced.  The  influence  of  beauty  is  never  lost. 
A  thing  of  beauty  is  lovely  even  in  decay,  and 
before  it  is  dead  and  gone  and  seen  no  more,  it 
has  projected  the  lesson  of  its  creation  into  the 
ages  for  a  moral,  and  happy  are  they  who  apply 
it.  Witness  Venice  herself.  Her  decay  began 
at  the  moment  she  was  most  powerful;  her  glory 
began  to  fade  when  she  was  most  beautiful ;  but 
to-day  her  story  gives  new  life  to  her  dead 
palaces,  and  the  poet  has  heralded  her  fame  in 
numbers  that  may  live  when  the  waters  of  the 
Adriatic  have  returned  to  their  natural  land- 
marks, and  Venice  is  no  more  than  the  dream 
she  must  often  seem,  even  now,  to  those  who, 
having  once  visited  her,  think  of  her  always  as 
an  enchanting  reminiscence. 

It  is  no  less  strange  how  the  story  of  heroic 
deeds,  the  instance  of  a  noble  human  action,  will 
sanctify  some  barren  spot  and  give  an  ideal 
charm  to  prosaic  things ;  thinking  of  which  takes 
one  far  away  from  Venice  to  that  mountain  vil- 
lage in  England,  which,  compared  with  the  City 
of  the  Adriatic,  is  as  a  molehill  to  Mount  Olym- 
pus, and  yet  in  the  loves  of  Roubillac  and  Fran- 


12  THE   DAGGER   AND   TIIR   CROSS 

cesca  it  looms  up  iuto  the  heaven  of  romance  and 
gives  a  comparable  dignity  in  which  Venice  does 
not  carry  off  all  the  honors. 

And  so  strange  are  the  decrees  of  Fate  that 
the  interview  between  Roubillacand  Pisani  starts 
a  link  of  undying  interest  between  Venice  and 
the  hamlet  of  Eyam  that  brings  the  Euganean 
hills  in  sight  of  Froggatt's  Edge,  mingles  the 
destinies  of  Mary  Talbot  and  Reuben  Clegg  wiOi 
those  of  the  Italian  lovers,  and  makes  the  music 
of  Ziletto's  mandolin  as  familiar  in  the  A^alley  of 
Middleton  as  it  was  on  the  moonlit  lagoons  of 
Venice. 

Bernardo  Roubillac  was  a  protege  of  the  family 
of  the  Valiero.  Thoy  loved  Art,  and  they  loved 
Venice.  The  head  of  the  house,  now  an  old 
man,  had  a  villa  at  Verona,  and  a  palace  at 
Venice,  near  the  Rialto.  All  that  taste  and 
wealth  could  do  to  make  these  abodes  beautiful 
was  lavished  upon  them.  Not  alone  a  mere 
patron  of  the  arts,  this  old  man,  Bertuccio  Vali- 
ero, was  an  enthusiast  in  promoting  the  rivalry 
of  the  Venetian  with  other  Italian  republics. 
With  a  splendid  munificence  he  had  established 
in  his  palace  an  Academy  of  Fine  Arts,  where 
such  youth  as  desired  might  study  free  of  charge 
and  with  the  aid  of  the  best  masters  procurable. 

Roubillac,  having  made  sufficient  mark  to  set 
up  a  studio  of  his  own,  chose  to  be  near  the 
palace,  so  that  he  might  the  more  readily  assist 
in  promoting  the  v/elfare  of  the  aspirants  who 
availed  themselves  of  the  Academy  and  its 
privileges. 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  13 

Now  Francesca  da  Ponte  was  the  daughter  of 
a  painter  at  Verona.  She  was  orphaned  when 
she  was  sixteen.  The  beauty  of  her  person  and 
the  graces  of  her  mind  had  commended  her  to 
the  ladies  of  the  VaHero  family.  She  had  also 
evinced  a  talent  for  the  art  of  her  father.  In  a 
design  for  tapestry  she  had  won  the  high  praise 
of  Morosini,  and  it  was  a  kindly  thought  that 
suggested  to  the  Signora  Valiero  that  Francesca 
might  have  the  privilege  of  the  gallery  at  Ven- 
ice ;  and  so  it  came  to  pass  that  one  day,  looking 
from  his  window  across  the  Canal,  Roubillac  saw 
a  gondola  with  two  passengers,  one  a  young  girl 
and  the  other  an  elderly  woman,  evidently  an 
attendant  in  her  service ;  no  unusual  sight ;  but 
Fate  was  busy  with  Roubillac's  future  at  that 
particular  moment,  and  his  eye  followed  the 
boat  as  it  glided  past  the  chief  entrance  to  the 
jjalace  and  paused  by  the  private  way  beneath 
his  window.  He  opened  his  casement  and  looked 
out.  The  gondolier,  with  an  air  of  respectful 
admiration,  gave  the  younger  of  the  passengers 
his  hand.  She  stepped  upon  the  palace  quay 
and  smiled  her  thanks,  herself  assisting  her  at- 
tendant to  alight. 

The  whole  scene  was  little  more  than  a  mo  ■ 
mentary  incident ;  but  in  that  flash  of  time  the 
image  of  the  "girl  went  straight  to  Roubillac's 
heart;  not,  let  it  be  said,  to  his  artistic  heart; 
the  touch  was  keener.  It  came  of  no  mere  desire 
to  paint  the  image  that  suddenly  gave  to  the 
world  a  new  light,  setting  the  waters  of  the 
Canal  deiucing  with  fresh  colors,  and  adding  a 


14  THE  DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS 

deeper  hue  to  the  bhie  sky,  that  made  the  Canal 
an  azure  sea,  the  palaces  that  fringed  it,  with 
the  dome  of  the  Church  of  the  Salutation  white 
against  the  sky,  a  fairy  city,  such  as  he  had 
dreamed  might  be  seen  on  the  plains  of  heaven. 

*'It  is  a  revelation,"  he  said  to  himself,  "an 
inspiration  of  living  beauty;"  and  his  pale  in- 
tellectual face  repeated  the  thought  in  a  new 
expression.  It  was  the  love  at  first  sight  that 
comes  with  a  rush  to  some  hearts  and  burns  the 
fiercer  when  the  subject  is  past  its  youth  and  the 
sensibilities  are  somewhat  dry,  as  a  spark  will 
ignite  with  a  breath  and  bring  into  a  glow  the 
most  withered  tinder.  Not  that  Roubillac  was 
old,  though  he  was  tw^enty  years  her  senior;  she 
some  sixteen  summers.  He  was  not  more  than 
thirty-six,  though  thought  and  an  ascetic  life 
had  given  him  the  appearance  of  a  more  ad- 
vanced age. 

Presently  she  passed  into  the  Gallery.  It  was 
a  rare  thing  for  a  woman  to  be  seen  there.  On 
a  few  occasions  the  wives  and  daughters  of 
artists  had  accompanied  their  friends  who  made 
studies  in  the  gallery  outside  the  precincts  of 
the  Academy  proper.  Roubillac  had  noticed 
that  the  girl,  whose  coming  had  moved  him  so 
deeply,  carried  a  satchel  common  with  students, 
and  her  attendant  a  small  panel.  He  laid  aside 
his  work,  and  drawing  his  cloak  about  him, 
passed  into  the  gallery  with  something  of  an 
acted  preoccupation  of  manner.  She  was  there, 
sitting  before  a  head  of  Apollo  and  making  a 
chalk  study.    There  were  other  artists  at  work, 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS       16 

one  other  lady  among  them,  but  the  girl  of  the 
gondola  seemed  to  hold  herself  apart  from  the 
rest.  The  sudden  interest  that  he  felt  in  her 
was  too  intense  for  speech.  He  might  have 
spoken  to  her,  had  he  so  desired,  and  no  offense ; 
even  have  offered  her  professional  counsel;  but 
he  only  ventured  upon  furtive  glances  at  the 
newcomer,  fearful  lest  any  act  or  word  of  his 
should  frighten  the  vision  of  beauty  away. 

And  so,  day  after  day,  he  came  to  the  gallery, 
found  that  he  could  never  settle  down  to  his 
day's  work  without  seeing  her,  and  with  a  cer- 
tain sting  of  pain  there  came  also  into  his  silent 
worsliip  of  her  the  joy  of  a  new  power  in  his  art. 
It  must  be,  he  thought,  that  she  had  brought  to 
him  the  divine  spark.  His  soul  had  broadened 
out  with  a  nobler  feeling  toward  humanity.  He 
was  a  new  man ;  but  how  long  would  all  this 
last?  How  long  before  he  dared  speak  with  her, 
and  what  would  become  of  him  the  day  she 
should  have  finished  her  study  of  the  head  that 
in  its  masculine  beauty  was  almost  a  match  with 
her  own?  He  watched  and  waited  for  her.  She 
came  punctually,  as  the  great  clock  of  St.  Mark's 
struck  the  hour,  and  she  went  away  as  regularly, 
her  woman  coming  for  her,  the  same  gondolier 
in  attendance  at  the  private  stairs  of  the  palace. 
Roubillac  found  himself  envying  that  gondolier, 
and  he  would  stand,  with  his  Dantesque-like  face 
in  his  hands,  watching  the  last  sparkles  that  fol- 
lowed the  great  blade  of  the  boatman  long  after 
the  swanlike  vessel  had  disappeared. 

One  day  she  did  not  come.     It  was  a  day  of 


16  THE   DAGGER   AND   THE    (^ROSS 

darkness  and  misery.  The  next  saw  her  not. 
It  seemed  as  if  the  world  was  at  an  end  for 
Roubillac.  He  went  forth  in  search  of  the 
maiden  and  her  attendant.  He  found  their 
abode.  He  entered  with  the  boldness  of  despair. 
She  was  ill.  He  brought  her  a  physician,  but 
she  had  no  need  of  adventitious  aid.  She  was 
well  cared  for.  In  the  window  of  her  chamber 
there  were  fresh  flowers,  and  in  the  distance 
could  be  seen  the  blue  waters  of  the  Adriatic. 
He  called  every  daj^-.  She  recovered ;  and  when 
she  had  left  her  chamber  and  descended  into  the 
little  salon  of  the  house,  he  was  permitted  to 
see  her. 

Thereupon  began  a  new  life  for  Roubillac.  It 
was  noticed  by  his  few  friends  that  the  recluse 
went  more  abroad  than  usual;  that  he  wore  his 
gown  with  a  new  air;  that  it  was  richer  than  of 
yore,  his  vest  somewhat  more  embroidered,  and 
he  carried  a  staff  of  rare  wood  mounted  with 
gold.  The  gondolier  and  the  serving  maid  of 
Francesca  knew  what  had  wrought  this  change 
in  the  painter ;  and  he  knew  by  what  inspiration 
he  seemed  to  be  traveling  for  the  first  time  on 
the  road  that  led  to  Fame. 

No  lover  could  have  had  better  excuse  for  an 
absorbing  passion  than  Roubillac  might  have 
pleaded  in  the  object  of  his  devotion.  Her 
beauty  was  Oriental  rather  than  Venetian ;  black 
glossy  hair,  a  complexion  of  delicate  olive, 
suffused  now  and  then  by  the  blush  of  a  sensitive 
temperament,  which  became  as  the  passing  of 
sunshine,  leaving  a  shadow  of  retrospect  behind. 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS       17 

She  had  a  soft  voice,  languishing  eyes,  and  a 
stately  figure.  The  artist's  consciousness  de- 
tected all  the  beauties  of  her  form  and  color ;  the 
lover's  rapture  idealized  them. 

It  was  an  act  of  more  than  ordinary  courage 
when  Roubillac  spoke  to  her  in  terms  of  love, 
for  from  the  first  she  had  seemed  to  him  some- 
thing more  than  mortal.  She  was  strangely 
moved  by  a  fine  picture  or  a  tender  story ;  and 
when  she  came  to  his  studio,  accompanied  by  the 
woman  vvith  whom  the  Valiero  ladies  had  placed 
her,  she  became  engrossed  in  his  work,  in  which 
he  now  found  a  new  happiness. 

When  he  confessed  his  love  for  her,  and  pressed 
it  with  a  view  to  immediate  marriage,  she  re- 
plied with  more  of  gratitude  than  the  deeper  sen- 
timent which  he  hoped  he  had  inspired ;  but  she 
allowed  her  hand  to  rest  in  his  and  suffered  his 
embrace.  He  was  too  bewilderingly  happy  to 
note  the  absence  of  a  loving  response ;  and  it  was 
strange  that  when  he  looked  for  a  reply  in  words 
she  spoke  of  his  Ascension  picture.  He  had 
never  dared  to  ask  her  to  sit  for  his  leading 
figure,  but  it  had  been  in  his  mind,  many  a  time 
and  oft,  to  wonder  if  he  might  make  so  wild  a 
request;  and  all  the  time,  whenever  he  had 
sketched  the  subject,  she  had  observed  in  the 
principal  figure  a  likeness  to  herself.  So,  when 
he  asked  her  to  be  his  wife  and  she  suffered  his 
embrace,  she  said  she  would  sit  to  him  for  his 
Ascension  picture,  1 1  was  an  odd  reply  to  the 
suit  of  a  lover;  but  Francesea  knew  that  in  this 
she  fulililed  half  his  desire,  and  she  was  anxious 


18  THE  DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS 

to  give  him  pleasure.  He  had  failed  to  stir  the 
secret  impulse  of  her  woman's  heart  in  the  way 
of  love.  It  came,  however — or  so  she  thought— 
at  a  later  day,  when  the  altar-piece  was  finished 
and  the  painter's  fame  was  on  every  lip,  and  he 
sat  at  her  feet  and  gave  all  the  praise  to  her, 
not  alone  for  the  angelic  grace  of  her  face  and 
figure,  but  the  inspiration  he  had  found  in  his 
love  for  her;  and  so,  ere  they  had  known  each 
other  a  year,  they  were  married,  and  were 
happy,  Roubillac  beyond  his  wildest  dreams, 
Francesca  in  a  mild  contented  fashion. 

It  was  at  the  height  of  Roubillac's  happiness 
that  there  appeared  in  Venice  Giovanni  Ziletto, 
who  came  with  the  reputation  of  a  sculptor,  a 
traveler,  and  a  diplomat ;  a  man  of  extraordinary 
gifts  and  striking  presence,  younger  than  Rou- 
billac, possessing  graces  of  person  and  manners 
that  tell  with  women  and  often  beguile  the  good 
opinion  of  men.  He  danced  divinely,  could  turn 
a  quaint  conceit  of  love  in  verse  and  sing  it  to 
his  mandolin  as  if  he  had  been  brought  up  to 
naught  but  minstrelsy.  He  saw  Francesca,  and 
conceived  a  passion  for  her.  Received  by  the 
Valieros  and  other  eminent  citizens,  he  obtained 
easy  access  to  the  home  and  studio  of  Roubillac. 
Francesca  found  in  his  manner  a  new  charm. 
Rarely  had  she  seen  so  handsome  a  figure ;  never 
listened  to  the  conversation  of  a  man  who  had 
seen  so  much  of  the  great  world,  or  who  related 
what  he  had  seen  with  such  facility  of  language. 
Young  as  he  was,  he  had  visited  most  of  the 
Courts  of  Europe,  and  in  the  most  delicate  way 


THE  DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS  19 

imaginable  succeeded  in  conveying  to  Francesca 
his  opinion  of  the  supremacy  of  her  beaut}^  in 
comparison  with  the  fairest  of  every  cHme.  It 
was  not  altogether  the  words  he  uttered  that 
meant  this,  but  she  seemed  to  hear  it  in  the 
strange  music  of  his  voice,  and  she  made  an 
excuse  to  retire  to  her  room,  lest  the  emotion  he 
had  aroused  within  her  should  be  observed  by 
Roubillac;  for  Ziletto  knew  how  certain  natures 
succumbed  to  his  influence.  Francesca  had 
never  yet  felt  the  genuine  impulse  of  passion, 
and  she  was  afraid. 

As  the  days  wore  on,  Francesca  began  to  look 
for  Ziletto's  coming ;  and  Ziletto  took  occasion  to 
seek  for  cause  of  quarrel  with  Roubillac,  not 
alone  by  his  outward  show  of  gallantry  toward 
the  painter's  lovely  wife,  but  in  such  debates  on 
art,  and  even  politics,  as  should  aggravate  Rou- 
billac into  a  challenge.  Hence  Roubillac's  in- 
terview with  Pisani. 

All  the  while  Francesca  suffered  the  perplex- 
ities of  doubts  and  fears  such  as  she  had  never 
known.  She  felt  that  she  had  a  secret,  she 
hardly  knew  what,  from  her  husband;  an  un- 
worthy secret  that  she  could  not  define.  She 
struggled,  as  a  dove  might  under  the  fascination 
of  a  snake.  She  felt  that  she  was  captive  to 
Ziletto's  whims,  felt  bound  to  listen  to  him.  He 
stirred  her  heart  as  it  had  never  been  stirred, 
gave  new  fancies  to  her  imagination.  He  drew 
her  eyes  toward  him  against  her  will,  whether 
they  met  upon  the  Square  of  St.  IMark's  or  even 
during  the  mass  at  St,  Maria  della  Salute.     Sb.Q 


20       THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

sought  relief  in  silent  prayer,  and  at  last  took 
counsel  with  her  confessor,  the  Monk  Lorenzo, 
a  conventual  brother  of  that  Father  Castelli, 
sojourning  in  England,  of  whom  we  have  heard. 
And  Roubillac  continued  to  visit  Pisani  the 
swordsman. 


CHAPTER  THREE 

THE   SERPENT    AND    THE   DOVE 

On  the  brink  of  what  would  have  been  Ziletto's 
triumph  and  Francesca's  destruction  she  flung 
herself  into  Roubillac's  arms  in  a  passion  of 
tears,  and  confessed  all. 

"I  am  not  myself,"  she  said;  "he  has  be- 
witched  me.  Even  now  he  has  made  me  promise 
to  receive  him  in  your  absence.  Forgive  me! 
Save  me !  If  I  have  not  loved  you  as  I  should 
have  loved,  I  am  j^our  wife,  and  thou  hast  trans- 
lated my  most  unworthy  image  in  thy  great 
picture ;  and  oh,  Bernardo,  I  would  be  true  to  thy 
loving  ambition,  grateful  for  thy  gentle  care, 
worthy  my  father's  name  and  thine!" 

Roubillac  soothed  her  with  soft  and  gracious 
words,  and  begged  her  to  tell  him  all,  that  he 
might  be  indeed  her  guardian  and  her  deliverer; 
and  as  he  looked  upon  her  glowing  features  and 
parted  lips,  and  felt  her  heart  beat  against  his 
own,  if  more  in  fear  than  love  yet  with  the  in- 
stinct of  purity,  he  knew  how  great  a  sacrifice  a 
young  girl  may  make  who  marries  one  so  much 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS       21 

her  elder,  whose  spring  of  love  has  been  clouded 
by  the  world,  and  who  has  no  response  to  the 
first  whisperings  of  passion. 

"You  will  be  sent  for,"  she  said,  now  calm 
and  firm  in  her  words  and  manner;  "an  accident 
to  the  altar-piece,  a  gondola  ready  for  you  from 
the  Governor,  a  carriage  in  waiting  on  the  main- 
land. You  will  go — and  then  he  will  come;  and 
I  think  I  gave  my  consent.  But  I  was  under  a 
spell !  Forgive  me !  If  you  go  to  Verona  with- 
out me  I  am  lost !  And  whether  you  go  or  not 
hide  me  from  this  persecution.  Oh,  Bernardo,  I 
suffer  from  an  enchantment!" 

As  she  spoke  there  entered,  hurriedly,  Ziletto 
himself.  AVith  the  readiness  of  a  keen  and 
nimble  wit  he  guessed  what  had  happened. 
There  was  confession  in  the,  woman's  eyes  as 
she  turned  from  him  and  clung  to  her  husband. 

"Well  met,  dear  friends,"  he  said,  in  his 
blandest  voice.  "I  had  feared  that  you,  Sign  or 
Roubillac,  had  gone  to  Verona,  since  there  is 
news  of  disaster  to  your  Angel  there,  and  I  heard 
that  you  had  been  sent  for,  and  came  with  haste 
to  offer  my  poor  services  and  comradeship  per- 
chance for  the  journey." 

"You  will  accompany  me?"  said  Roubillac. 

"If  it  should  so  please  you,  my  friend;  if  I  do 
not  seek  too  much  honor  in  so  addressing  you." 

"Francesca,  my  child,  I  will  call  your  woman. 
You  shall  retire  while  I  discuss  this  business 
with  our  friend." 

Both  Ziletto  and  Francesco  noted  the  emphasis 
upon  the  sv/eet  w^ml  "friend"  that  turned  it  into 


22  THE   DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS 

sourness;  and  she  clung  still  closer  to  Roubil- 
lac. 

"Nay,  I  would  prefer  to  stay,"  she  said,  with 
white  lips  and  arms  trembling. 

'"Tisnot  fitting,"  said  Roubillac,  conducting 
her  toward  the  door. 

When  the  door  was  closed  Roubillac  drew  a 
bar  across  it. 

Ziletto  watched  him  with  a  cynical  smile,  his 
hand  upon  his  sword,  his  feet  firmly  planted  to 
receive  the  painter's  attack. 

Roubillac  flung  aside  his  gown,  and  drew  upon 
Ziletto  with  a  gesture  of  abandon  that  gave  a 
new  dignity  to  his  wiry  if  ascetic  figure. 

"Liar!  Reprobate!"  he  hissed  between  his 
teeth.     "Defend  thyself!" 

"I  would  prefer  to  have  witnesses  of  your 
death,  Signor  Jealousy,"  said  Ziletto,  calmly 
drawing  his  weapon  and  standing  on  guard. 
"And  'twere  surely  to  sully  your  wife's  fair 
fame  to  fight  about  her  so  near  her  chamber 
door!" 

"Fiend!"  exclaimed  Roubillac,  "that  shall  be 
as  Heaven  wills  it.  Spare  thy  words  and  defend 
thy  life." 

"As  you  will,"  Ziletto  replied,  awaiting  Rou- 
billac's  attack.  "You  hold  your  weapon  as  if 
'twere  a  mahl-stick." 

"Then  feel  its  point!"  hissed  the  painter, 
stung  by  the  other's  cool  effrontery,  and  lunging 
at  him  with  a  quick  and  sudden  fury. 

It  was  only  by  a  rare  dexterity  that  Ziletto 
met  his  adversary's  untrained  and  unusual  at-- 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  33 

tack,  Roubillac's  point  flashing  before  his  eyes 
and  inflicting  a  slight  facial  wound  before  he 
had  almost  whipped  it  out  of  Roubillac's  grip 
and  sent  the  painter  staggering. 

"Pisani  would  have  condemned  such  play, 
Signor  Roubillac,  even  had  you  killed  your  op- 
ponent," said  Ziletto,  scornfully,  conscious  of 
the  slight  warm  trickle  of  blood  that  fell  upon 
his  hand. 

While  the  sight  of  this  red  token  of  first  blood 
maddened  Roubillac  almost  with  the  rage  of  a 
murderer,  it  only  cooled  the  nerves  of  the  duelist 
and  stimulated  his  finest  play,  which  held  Rou- 
billac captive  to  his  skill.  He  dallied  with  the 
painter's  weapon,  parried  every  attack  with  a 
scofiing  laugh,  and  tortured  him  with  the  iron 
strength  of  his  wrist.  Roubillac  felt  the  ground 
beneath  him  reel,  and  he  knew  that  at  any  mo- 
ment his  life  was  in  Ziletto's  hand.  At  last, 
with  one  desperate  and  final  effort  he  flung  him- 
self upon  his  adversary  as  he  had  done  at  the 
opening  of  the  encounter,  but  only  to  find  him- 
self disarmed  and  with  Ziletto's  blade  at  his 
throat. 

"Fool!"  said  the  practiced  duelist,  "I  spare 
thy  life  that  Pisani  may  teach  thee  a  new  trick 
of  fence,  and  Francesca  be  spared  the  scandal  of 
a  dotard's  jealousy,  to  be  turned  into  a  ballad 
or  animate  the  canvas  of  some  vile  painter  of 
romance." 

Sheathing  his  sword,  Ziletto,  drawing  from  his 
breast  a  lace  handkerchief,  wiped  the  few  spots 
of  blood  from  his  face  and  turned  upon  his  heel 


24  THE  DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS 

as  the  good  Father  Lorenzo,  who  had  confessed 
Fraii(;esca,  entered  the  studio. 

"Your  blessing,  holy  father!"  exclaimed  Zi- 
letto.  "Nay,  not  for  me,  but  for  our  friend,  who 
hath  a  secret  to  impart  to  you  only,  for  it  is  not 
likely  he  shall  blab  it  in  the  streets.  I  commend 
him  to  your  good  advice. ' ' 

With  which  insolent  remark,  Ziletto,  with  a 
profound  obeisance,  quitted  the  room.  Roubil- 
lac,  as  a  man  in  a  dream,  rose  from  his  knees, 
where  Ziletto  had  stood  over  him,  and  went  to 
the  window,  to  watch  the  reprobate,  in  his 
brocaded  trappings  and  painted  shoes,  enter 
his  gondola. 

When  Ziletto's  gondolier  had  pushed  off  his 
boat  and  the  sun  was  dancing  gayly  upon  its 
track,  Roubillac  flung  himself  down  upon  the 
floor  and  sobbed. 

It  was  long  ere  Pisani's  pupil  recovered  him- 
self sufficiently  to  listen  to  the  message  which 
the  priest  had  brought  him.  It  came  in  a  letter 
from  Father  Castelli,  and  by  the  hands  of  an 
agent  lately  arrived  in  Venice  to  engage  artists 
for  the  decoration  of  the  Old  Hall,  in  Derby- 
shire, England.  There  was  also  an  altar-piece 
to  be  painted,  and  other  work  to  be  done  for  the 
chapel  which  the  lady  of  the  Old  Hall  had  built. 
It  had  come  into  the  mind  of  the  confessor  that 
it  would  be  a  wise  and  happy  release  from  press- 
ing troubles  if  Koubillac  would  take  charge  of 
this  business,  and  ship  himself  and  wife  forth- 
with for  England,  with  such  companions  as  he 
should   select    for    the   work   in   liand,  a  work 


THE  DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS  25 

that  honored  Art  and  the  Church  at  the  same 
time. 

"It  is  a  voice  from  Heaven,"  Roubillac  replied. 


CHAPTER  FOUR 

MARY   TALBOT 

Think  of  all  the  pictures  you  have  ever  seen 
of  English  village  streets,  with  their  invariable 
complement  of  an  artistic  feminine  figure  in  the 
foreground,  and  you  have  already  in  your  mem- 
ory an  impression  of  Mary  Talbot  and  the  village 
of  Eyam. 

At  this  distance  of  time  one  still  sees  her,  un- 
consciously posed  within  its  artistic  focus,  the 
very  figure  for  the  familiar  scene,  with  a  flood 
of  autumn  sunshine  deepening  the  rich  color  of 
the  fallen  leaves. 

She  curtsied  to  the  new  rector,  and  they  stood 
for  a  few  minutes  talking  together  on  the  village 
green,  with  its  ancient  Cross  since  removed  to 
the  churchyard,  its  new  fountain,  and  its  belt  of 
sycamores  that  screened  the  emerald  and  purple 
distance,  where  stretches  of  forest  and  meadow 
and  patches  of  yellow  stubble  broke  up  the  splen- 
did monotony  of  the  moorlands. 

If,  in  the  painter's  language,  she  was  comple- 
mentary to  the  background  and  the  warm  coloi 
of  its  accessories,  the  rector  in  his  rusty  black 
cassock,  was  of  still  further  value  in  emphasizing 
the  esthetic  charm  of  the  central  figure. 


26       THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

There  was  no  more  attractive  personality 
among  all  the  beauties  of  the  county  than  that 
of  Mary  Talbot.  She  was  typical  of  the  class  of 
woman  no  man  can  pass,  if  he  would,  without  a 
secret  or  open  tribute  to  her  unaffected  charms. 
It  was  just  as  natural  for  Mary  Talbot  to  be 
fascinating  as  it  was  to  be  well  dressed.  She 
became  her  clothes,  whatever  they  were,  and 
she  was  beautiful,  adorned  or  unadorned ;  it  was 
her  mission  in  life,  she  could  not  help  it.  Her 
features  were  not  perfect  according  to  the  canons 
of  art,  nor  her  complexion  an  ideal  study  of 
color;  but  from  head  to  foot  she  was  the  expres- 
sion of  a  generous  and  loving  nature,  which, 
combined  with  a  rare  intelligence,  distinguished 
her  beyond  all  comparison,  whenever  comparison 
had  come  within  range  of  local  observation. 

And  she  was  content  to  be  simply  the  belle 
and  the  Lady  Bountiful  of  the  village  of  Eyam, 
having  no  experience  of  any  other  place,  beyond 
that  of  an  occasional  excursion  to  one  of  the  few 
neighboring  communities  that  were  sparsely 
scattered  among  the  hills  and  dales  of  the  most 
lonely  and  least  known  districts  of  the  North 
Midland  counties. 

As  yet  she  was  heart-whole ;  though  she  would 
not  have  been  a  woman  had  she  been  uncon- 
scious of  the  impression  she  had  made  upon  more 
than  one  distinguished  guest  at  the  local  palace 
of  the  Stafford-Bradshaws,  simply  known  as  the 
Old  Hall;  and  she  acknowledged  to  herself  a 
certain  sensation  of  pleasure  in  the  consciousness 
of  the  admiration  of  Reuben  Clegg,  who  was 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS       27 

eating  his  heart  out  for  love  and  burning  to  tell 
her  so,  restrained  only  by  fear  that  confession 
might  cut  him  off  from  his  cherished  visits  to 
the  Manor  House,  where  he  had  occasional  busi- 
ness with  her  proud  old  Tory  father. 

Reuben  Clegg  was  the  man  most  feared  in  the 
village,  alike  by  such  intellect  as  it  possessed  as 
bj^  its  trained  athleticism.  To  have  his  manli- 
ness and  intellectuality  doff  its  cap,  as  it  were, 
before  her  on  all  occasions,  to  have  him  listen  to 
her  lightest  word,  to  be  at  her  beck  and  call, 
were  triumphs  of  femininity  that  Mary  Talbot 
valued  more  than  the  general  admiration  of  the 
village  and  the  petty  jealousies  of  the  over- 
dressed ladies  of  the  Old  Hall,  who,  during 
their  few  months  of  residence  there,  treated  the 
village  church  on  Sundays  to  a  display  of  com- 
plexions, patches,  radiant  curls,  white  bosoms, 
and  brocaded  gowns. 

"I  was  going  your  way.  Miss  Talbot,"  said 
Clegg,  overtaking  her  as  she  took  leave  of  the 
rector.  "Ma}^  I  walk  with  you  as  far  as  the 
Manor  House?" 

"I  see  no  reason  why  you  may  not,"  she  an- 
swered, giving  him  a  coquettish  glance  that 
turned  him  hot  and  cold. 

She  noted  the  color  come  into  his  weather- 
tanned  cheeks.  He  stroked  his  short  brown  beard 
in  a  nervous  way.  His  evident  embarrassment 
gave  her  more  than  a  passing  sensation  of 
pleasure. 

Even  the  dullest  woman  is  complimented  by 
the  homage  of  brains.     Clegg  was  looked  upon 


28  THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS 

as  the  wisest  man  in  the  village.  He  was  in- 
clined to  be  reticent.  The  reason  was  that  he 
held  opinions  upon  many  things  which  the  vil- 
lage did  not  understand;  and  certain  views 
which  they  thought  they  did  understand  thej^ 
resented.  They  were  proud  of  him  in  a  negative 
kind  of  way.  He  had  the  gift  of  divination  in 
the  matter  of  hidden  minerals  and  springs.  Not 
only  to  his  hazel  wand  did  they  owe  the  neigh- 
boring Winship  Mine,  but  at  his  magic  touch  the 
brightest  water  supply  in  the  Hundred  had 
gushed  from  the  rock  as  the  water  started  forth 
from  the  rock  in  Horeb  at  the  bidding  of  Moses. 

"Your  father  seemed  to  look  on  something  I 
said  to  the  rector  as  an  offense — " 

"And  3'ou  thought  I  agreed  with  him,  I  sup- 
pose—as  if  folk  cannot  have  different  opinions 
about  the  Trinitj^,  or  the  Equator,  or  some  other 
fashion  of  things,  without  offense." 

"I  fear  they  cannot,"  said  Clegg,  softening 
his  strong  voice,  as  he  always  did  when  he  spoke 
to  Miss  Talbot,  and  even  trying  to  tone  down 
his  dialect,  though  everybody,  f^om  Sir  George 
Talbot  to  the  meanest  hind,  spoke  in  a  similarly 
uncultured  manner  and  often  in  coarse  terms. 

"That  is  because  you  are  so  much  in  earnest." 

"Ought  a  man  not  to  be  in  earnest?" 

"Oh,  5"es;  but  he  should  be  considerate  of 
others  who  have  strong  prejudices  and  less  edu- 
cation." 

"Rather  a  fine  word,  isn't  it — education,  Miss 
Talbot?  Reading  and  writing  belong  to  church- 
men and  the  like,  and  education's  a  mystery,  full 


THE   DAGOER   AND   THE    CROSS  29 

confession  of  which  might  get  a  man  hanged  for 
ti'eason  or  burned  as  a  magician. ' ' 

"Not  in  these  days,  Mr.  Clegg,"  said  Mary. 
"It's  no  longer  a  crime  for  a  man  to  say  his 
soul's  his  own." 

Mary  had  listened  too  often  to  Clegg  not  to 
know  how  he  would  have  her  talk  to  him.  There 
is  nothing  more  lasting  in  the  way  of  education 
than  intercourse  with  a  master  mind.  Mary 
Talbot  appreciated  Clegg's  intellectuality.  He 
had  often  shaped  her  thoughts.  She  had  been 
guided  by  his  discourse  in  many  ways.  Her 
father  enjoj^ed  what  he  called  a  wrangle  with 
Clegg,  though  their  friendly  controversies  occa- 
sionally ended  in  a  coolness  that  lasted  for  days. 
But  for  the  influence  of  Mary  they  would  have 
quarreled.  Sir  George  patronized  Clegg,  who 
was  the  last  man  to  submit  to  any  affectation  of 
superiority  from  any  one ;  though  he  would  have 
accepted  a  good  deal  of  humiliation  for  Miss 
Talbot's  sake.  While  she  desired  to  please  Clegg 
and  keep  him  as  a  friendly  ally,  she  had  no  in- 
tention of  ever  giving  him  an  opportunity  to  con- 
fess his  love  for  her.  At  the  same  time  she 
liked  to  know  that  he  took  no  interest  in  any 
other  girl  or  woman  in  the  village  or  else- 
where. 

"I  am  inconsiderate  to  people  then?" 

"I  think  so." 

"It  is  a  kind  of  arrogance  of  opinion?" 

"Something  in  that  Avay." 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Talbot;  you  can  be  frank 
and   kind   at   the   same  time.    Most  folk  when 


30       THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

they  are  frank  'are  rude,  sometimes  coarse ;  1 
Buppose  I  am." 

"I  did  not  say  that,  Mr.  Clegg,"  Mary  replied, 
looking  up  into  his  face  with  a  sympathetic 
smile;  "but  I  think  you  lose  friends  by  regard- 
ing things  too  seriously. ' ' 

"I  haven't  many  friends,"  he  replied,  thought- 
fully. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  think  you  have." 

"No.  I  don't  make  friends.  The  Crown  and 
Anchor's  the  only  meeting-ground  one  has,  and 
our  Eyam  folk  only  see  what's  under  their  noses 
and  only  feel  when  they  are  pricked." 

"There's  the  vestry  meetings,"  she  replied, 
reflectively,  adding  briskly,  "and  the  new  rector 
is  accessible." 

"I  don't  care  much  for  rectors  in  a  general 
way,  and  the  other  man  is  more  to  my  liking." 

"Now  that  he  has  been  displaced,"  she  re- 
plied again,  with  a  friendly  smile.  "That's  be- 
cause you  take  sides  naturally  with  the  perse- 
cuted." 

"It's  kind  of  you  to  say  so.  Your  father 
doesn't  hold  that  opinion.  I  should  be  sorry  to 
lose  3^our  friendship,  Miss  Talbot." 

"Or  my  father's,  surely,"  she  answered,  look- 
ing up  into  his  anxious  face,  though  her  eyes 
fell  as  they  encountered  his  steadfast  gaze. 

"He  is  orthodox  of  the  orthodox,  and  some- 
times perhaps  I  do  not  sufficiently  respect  his 
years  or  honorable  position;  that  makes  my 
heart  a  bit  sore  when  I  reflect  upon  it  and  think 
of  him  as  your  father. ' ' 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS       31 

"On  his  side  he  does  not  make  allowance  for 
the  curious  changes  of  our  day,  I  fear ;  first  one 
set  of  teachers  and  then  another — Barebones 
this  day,  Silk  and  Feathers  the  next;  good  men 
— in  office  yesterdaj'-,  rejected  of  the  bishops  on 
the  morrow.  But  I  know  what  you  think  about 
it  all,  Mr.  Clegg." 

"You  are  very  good  tcr  have  my  opinions  in 
your  thoughts  for  a  moment,"  said  Clegg,  a 
flush  of  color  pouring  over  his  face. 

"Oh,  but  I  never  hear  any  others  worth  re- 
membering," she  said  with  complimentary 
promptitude,  "alwaj^s,  of  course,  excepting 
what  the   rector   says." 

"Ah,  Miss  Talbot,  if  we  had  only  a  knowl- 
edge of  each  other's  hearts,  what  nusery  and 
tribulation  it  might  save  us!" 

"Na3%  friend,  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that;  it  is 
the  only  virtue  of  some  folk  that  they  succeed  in 
hiding  what's  there,"  she  answered,  with  a  pre- 
tended cynical  pout  of  her  rosy  lips,  adding,  as 
she  noted  the  serious  expression  of  Clegg's  face, 
"but  I  am  at  home,  so  good-afternoon,  sir;  my 
father  will  be  expecting  me." 

Clegg,  who  had  intended  making  a  call  upon 
Sir  George,  mechanically  lifted  the  latch  of  the 
gate,  and  stood  with  his  broad  felt  hat  in  his 
hand  until  she  had  passed  over  the  courtyard. 
Giving  him  a  little  curtsey  at  the  open  door  of 
the  Manor  House,  she  disappeared,  whereupon 
to  Clegg  for  the  moment  all  the  whole  world 
was  a  blank. 

During  their  brief  conversation  he  had  expert' 


32       THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

enced  a  flutter  of  secret  satisfaction  in  the  certain 
belief  that  Miss  Talbot  had  in  a  manner  identified 
her  views  with  his  own  sentiments,  and  evidently 
with  the  intention  of  giving  him  pleasure. 

It  did  not  occur  to  him  that,  apart  from  Mary 
Talbot's  beauty,  much  of  her  popularity  consisted 
in  desiring  to  make  everybody  happy.  She  was 
considerate  and  condescending  to  the  humblest. 
Nevertheless,  it  was  quite  worthy  of  emphasis 
that  at  the  moment  when  Clegg  felt  himself 
more  or  less  in  disgrace  with  the  new  rector  (he 
had  long  since  outraged  the  highly-strung  con- 
science of  his  predecessor).  Miss  Talbot  should 
not  only  be  tolerant  of  him,  but  sympathetic 
toward  certain  of  his  opinions. 

When  she  put  an  end  to  Clegg's  moralizing  at 
her  father's  gates,  he  had  become  so  unconscious 
of  everythin;.;'  and  everybody  besides  himself  and 
his  love  that  he  was  on  the  eve  of  blurting  it 
out  and  taking  the  consequences.  It  is  quite 
possible  that  she  knew  it,  and  it  may  not  have 
been  the  first  time  that,  by  some  deft  feminine 
artifice,  she  had  flung  him  off  as  she  had  done 
upon  this  occasion. 

Thus  Clegg  fell  back  again  into  his  twilight 
world  of  doubt  and  depression,  wondering  at  the 
very  temerity  of  his  passion,  and  more  at  the 
sudden  courage  which  had  brought  him  to  the 
verge  of  telling  the  girl  that  he  loved  her. 

But  when  his  mother  had  lighted  the  one  long 
candle  by  which  she  read  a  chapter  in  the  Bible 
before  going  to  bed  (for  Reuben  never  contro- 
verted in  their  own  house  the  reasonableness  of 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  33 

her  long-tried  faith),  he  confessed,  almost  with 
tears,  what  had  been  passing  in  his  mind;  and 
she  said,  "I  icnew  it,  Reuben,  I  knew  it,  and 
have  prayed  that  One  Above  might  favor  thee 
in  this,  and  turn  her  heart  to  thee  and  bless 
thee." 

"Ah,  mother,  if  One  Above  happened  to  be 
Sir  George  Talbot  and  thou  hadst  influence  with 
him,  a  prayer  in  that  quarter  might  help  me;" 
for  it  soured  him  to  hear,  as  he  often  did,  of 
people  praying  for  things  without  receiving  the 
faintest  show  of  a  favorable  answer, 

"Reuben,  mj^  dear,  it  pains  me  to  have  thee 
scoff  at  prayer.  God  has  answered  me  many  a 
time  when  thou  hast  been  in  danger  and  in 
trouble;  and  not  so  long  since,  when  one  was 
taken  and  the  other  was  left  in  that  accident  at 
the  Mine,  it  was  thou  that  God  rescued." 

"Forgive  me,  mother;  it  hurts  me  most  when 
I  do  aught  to  pain  thee,"  Reuben  replied,  taking 
her  face  between  his  two  great  hands  and  kissing 
her. 

"Why  (lost  thou  not  confess  to  the  girl  her- 
self, so  free  and  familiar  as  thou  art  with  her 
father,  a  giK^st  in  his  house,  and  the  author  of 
his  wealth,  or  most  of  it?  For  it  was  thou  who 
struck  the  lead  of  the  Winship,  and  made  him 
master  of  tlie  land  when  thou  mightst  have 
bought  it  for  thyself." 

"Nay,  mother;  it  was  his  in  fee,  and  I've 
reason  to  be  content  with  my  share  of  the 
revenue." 

"And  I  love  thee  the  more,  Reuben,  that  thou 


34  THE   DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS 

art  liberal  and  free-handed.  I  would  have  thee 
always  so;  and  who  knows  but  the  maiden  is 
waiting  for  thee  to  be  open  with  her,  and  looks 
for  thee  one  day  to  speak  to  her  father?" 

"I'm  ten  or  twelve  3'ears  her  elder,  mother, 
and  I  look  my  years  and  twenty  more,"  he 
said,  as  he  pushed  a  tall-backed  armchair  into 
the  doorway  where  he  was  wont  to  sit  at  even- 
time  watching  the  landscape,  sometimes  smoking 
and  listening  to  his  mother's  chat  and  gossip,  at 
others  poring  over  the  pages  of  a  volume  of 
serious  import — a  journal  of  travel,  a  treatise  on 
science,  a  chapter  of  history,  often  a  play  b}'- 
WilHam  Shakespeare. 

"The  better  thou  art  fitted  to  be  her  protector," 
said  Mrs.  Clegg,  as  Reuben  seated  himself  and 
sighed  over  the  thought  that  he  was  in  more 
ways  than  this  one  of  age  hardly  a  desirable 
suitor  for  the  hand  of  Marj^  Talbot.  "She  can- 
not always  have  Sir  George  Avith  her  any  more 
than  thou  canst  have  me,  though  I  may  be  far 
beyond  Sir  George's  age;  and  if  thou  wert  not 
my  own  son,  Reuben,  I  would  tell  thee  to  thy 
face  that  if  she  be  sweet  and  fair  thou  art  strong 
and  lovable,  and  hast  no  match  in  all  the  broad 
country  either  for  thy — " 

"Peace,  mother,"  said  Reuben,  turning  toward 
her.  "Thou  art  a  witness  of  prejudice  where 
my  character  is  concerned." 

' '  But  an  thou  dost  not  speak  to  her,  Reuben, 
wilt  let  me  be  thy  messenger?" 

"Thee,  mother?" 

"Ay,  me.     She  has  no  mother,  the  more's  the 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE  CROSS  35 

pity.  Why  should  she  not  listen  to  thine? 
Who  can  know  thee  so  well,  who  so  fitted  to 
speak  for  thee?" 

"Nay,  mother,"  he  replied,  rising,  "if  I  can- 
not speak  for  myself  I'll  have  no  go-betweens, 
not  even  thee,  mj^  love,  not  even  thee, ' '  and  he 
took  her  into  his  great  manly  arms  and  pressed 
her  to  his  heart. 


CHAPTER  FIVE 

HOW   STRANGERS   CAME   TO   EYAM 

A  LITTLE  world  in  itself,  the  village  of  Eyam 
might  have  been  a  lonelj^  island  of  the  sea,  far 
from  the  track  of  ships,  so  completely  was  it  cut 
off  from  the  great  centers  of  English  life  and 
action.  There  were  not  wanting,  however,  in 
its  annals  stories  of  love  and  intrigue,  instances 
of  courage  and  self-denial,  and  other  passages  of 
romance  worthy  of  the  historian  and  the  poet. 

The  record  of  its  heroism,  which  fills  one  of 
the  most  impressive  chapters  in  the  annals  of 
England,  began  with  a  peaceful  invasion,  a  brief 
description  of  which  will  mark  at  once  the  period 
of  our  narrative  and  suggest  the  atmosphere  that 
belongs  to  it. 

To  the  student  who  had  eyes  and  thoughts  that 
ranged  far  beyond  the  hills  that  shut  in  the  vil- 
lage of  Eyam  from  the  great  world,  the  time 
was  full  of  high  ambitions.  Histories  of  the 
triumphs  and  adventures  of  the  British  pioneers 


86  THE   DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS 

of  the  (lays  of  Elizabeth  had  become  famih'ai 
amonjjf  thoso  who  read,  and  strange  incidents 
of  new  dicoveiies  and  warlike  episodes  gave  a 
poetic  glamour  to  the  narratives  of  soldiers  and 
sailors  in  cottage  homes  and  tavern  parlors. 
The  death  of  Cromwell  had  followed  the  execu- 
tion of  Charles,  and  the  restoration  of  monarchy 
had  given  a  fresh  impetus  to  the  national  love  of 
romance.  E^-am  was,  however,  tucked  away 
from  all  this — a  village  retreat  outside  tlie 
world,  except  for  such  influence  as  the  Old  Hall 
brought  to  bear  upon  it  once  in  a  way,  and  the 
occasional  giving  forth  of  Reuben  Clegg  on 
some  subject  that  became  controversial  between 
him  and  Sir  George,  or  the  rector;  for  he  rarely 
had  patience  to  take  the  Crown  and  Anchor  into 
his  intellectual  confidence.  Not  tJiat  he  was  in 
the  least  priggish  or  self-conscioufj  by  reason  of 
his  superior  knowledge,  but  the  company  at  the 
Crown  and  Anchor  was  Avooden,  prejudiced,  and 
largely  under  the  control  of  the  Const?.ble  of 
Eyam,  who  was  egotistical  in  his  ignorance  and 
something  of  a  jack  in  office. 

One  Saturday  afternoon,  when  Reuben  Clegg 
was  smoking  his  after-dinner  pipe,  he  suddenly 
rose  from  his  chair,  and  first  gazing  down  into 
the  glen,  and  then  turning  toward  his  mother, 
who,  having  cleared  the  dinner  things  away, 
was  taking  up  her  knitting,  and  preparing  for  a 
chat,  he  said,  "What's  coming  yonder,  mother?" 

"Nay,  whither?"  she  asked,  stepping  into  the 
sunshine,  and  shading  her  eyes  with  her  brown 
right  hand. 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS       37 

"Winding  through  the  oaks  at  the  foot  of  the 
dale,"  Reuben  replied,  pointing  toward  Calver, 
where  his  keener  vision  had  detected  the  unac- 
customed sight  of  a  cavalcade  entering  the  rocky- 
defile  of  Middleton  Dale,  and  climbing  toward 
the  plateau  upon  which  straggled  the  picturesque 
village  of  Eyam. 

It  was  a  calm,  sunny  day,  one  of  those  days 
in  the  late  autumn  when  it  seems  as  if  summer 
has  come  back  again— the  earth  dry,  and  little 
moisture  in  the  air,  red  berries  on  the  hedges  in 
place  of  the  fallen  leaves,  the  sky  far  away,  the 
trees  and  the  mountains  clean-cut  against  the 
horizon,  like  the  work  of  a  fine  etching. 

A  radiant  vision  of  the  Orient  could  not  have 
been  more  startling  or  wonderful  to  Clegg  and 
his  mother  than  the  strange  procession  which 
riveted  their  attention  as  it  appeared  and  then 
disappeared  at  intervals  in  the  winding  glen. 

It  came  and  went,  in  and  out  of  sudden  curves, 
under  the  white  limestone  rocks  that  the  centuries 
had  molded  into  fantastic  shapes,  such  as  palaces, 
castles,  loopholed  fortresses  and  church  steeples. 

At  first  it  looked  like  the  vanguard  of  an 
army.  Clegg,  for  a  moment,  wondered  if  he 
should  arm  himself  and  alarm  the  village.  The 
next  moment,  as  he  got  a  clearer  view  of  it,  he 
remembered  having  heard  of  the  carriage  of 
goods  and  tlie  journeying  of  travelers  on  pack- 
horses,  of  which  the  strange  procession  evidently 
consisted,  for  now  he  could  see  the  baskets  on 
each  side  of  the  horses,  and  the  riders  between 
them.     The    latter,    however,    were    attired    in 


38  THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS 

robes  and  headdresses,  the  like  of  which  had 
never  previously  come  under  his  notice,  except 
in  pictures  illustrating  an  edition  of  Shakespeare 
that  he  had  bought  when  he  journeyed  into 
Hallamshire  on  the  business  of  the  "Winship 
Mine,  and  in  a  copy  of  the  Scriptures  which  his 
mother  read  night  and  morning — an  heirloom  of 
her  family,  one  of  the  few  treasures  she  had 
brought  with  her,  as  she  often  told  her  son, 
when  she  married  his  father.  She  was  a  widow 
now,  and  had  worn  her  weeds  ever  since  Reuben 
was  a  lad. 

The  cavalcade,  slowly  approaching  the  bend 
of  the  road  that  was  immediatel}^  overlooked  by 
Clegg's  cottage,  had  a  strange  and  foreign  ap- 
pearance. It  was  a  caravan,  attended  by  out- 
riders and  guards,  the  latter  exercising  similar 
duties  to  the  escorts  of  the  Arab  merchants  in 
the  desert.  They  were  evidently  Englishmen, 
nevertheless.  Their  stout  leathern  jerkins,  felt 
hats,  and  untanned  riding-boots  of  somber  color 
heightened  the  gay  clothes  and  ribbons,  and 
other  finery,  of  the  men  and  women  who  rode 
between  the  baskets  of  the  pack-horses. 


CHAPTER   SIX 

THE  WOOING   OF   REUBEN   CLEGG 

The  travelers  were  clearly  foreigners;  ''bar- 
barians,"   Mrs.    Clegg  suggested.     "Might  be 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS       39 

show-folk  or  gypsies,  or  the  Hke,  in  such  tags 
and  finery. ' ' 

"Thou'rt  right,  mother;  they  might  be  folk 
out  of  a  mystery  play,  or  a  legend  of  Egypt;  I've 
never  seen  the  like." 

"Nay,  Reuben,  I'll  be  bound  thou'lt  mek 
summat  fanciful  on  it,  the  way  thy  head  runs 
on  things  that  rightly  belong  to  dreams,"  said 
his  mother,  with  a  look  at  her  son  of  mingled 
admiration  and  trouble. 

And  yet,  in  his  appearance,  Clegg  had  little 
that  one  associates  with  the  appearance  of  a 
romantic  man.  There  was  one  in  that  proces  • 
sion  coming  up  the  glen  who  carried  an  air  of 
romance  in  every  feature,  and  another  of  the 
same  nationality,  destined  to  make  a  later  ap- 
pearance in  Eyam,  w^ho  might  have  posed  as  a 
troubadour,  with  olive  complexion,  raven  locks 
and  flashing  ej^es,  and  with  a  gift  of  minstrelsy ; 
but  Reuben  Clegg  was  of  the  British  yeoman 
type,  strongfi  matter-of-fact,  somewhat  angular, 
with  a  determined,  square  chin,  haK-hidden  by  a 
rough  beard,  a  nose  that  was  bony  and  firm  in 
outline,  a  forehead  square  and  hard,  with  no 
more  of  the  retreating  angle  in  it  than  there  was 
of  retreat  in  the  Clegg  nature  when  the  Clegg 
nature  was  in  battle  array  either  against  the 
hard  rock  of  the  Winship  Mine  or  in  argument 
with  Sir  George  Talbot,  the  rector,  or  the  fathers 
of  the  village  at  the  Crown  and  Anchor. 

At  the  same  time  there  was  much  that  was 
gentle  in  Clegg's  disposition.  He  was  tender 
with  children  and  humane  to  animals,     Mary 


40  THE    DA(JGER   AND   THE   CROSS 

Talbot  could  have  linked  him  to  her  wrist  with 
a  silken  chain,  as  she  did  practically  link  him  to 
her  service.  His  hair  was  closely  cropped,  and 
in  this  respect  suggested  the  Cromwellian  soldier, 
though  Clegg  had  done  no  fighting  either  for  the 
Unicorn  or  the  Crown.  Nor  was  he  reputed  in 
the  village  as  a  fighting  man,  either  in  sport  or 
earnest;  though  in  the  village  games,  whenever 
he  had  been  induced  to  take  a  hand,  he  had  in- 
variably held  his  own. 

The  villagers  called  him  "Old  Thoughtful." 
They  had  called  him  "Old  Thoughtful"  ever 
since  he  was  a  lad. 

Once  upon  a  time  he  didn't  care  a  farthing 
what  he  was  called.  His  mind  was  engrossed  in 
what  was  at  that  day  a  somewhat  primitive 
study — the  revelations  of  geology. 

Furthermore,  he  was  learned  in  other  direc- 
tions. Contrasted,  indeed,  with  what  other  peo- 
ple about  him  knew,  his  knowledge  was  uncanny. 

It  was  an  ignorant  and  a  sorcjid  age.  The 
women  were  drudges ;  the  men  lived  coarse  lives, 
but  cultivated  the  virtues  of  loyalty  and  hospital- 
ity. The  country  was  prosperous.  Food  was 
plentiful.  It  was  cooked  and  served  in  abun- 
dance, and  with  rigid  simplicity.  Eyam,  a  model 
village  in  its  way,  was  primitive  in  its  life  and 
habits,  superstitious,  doubtful  of  the  good  faith  of 
studious  men,  and  uncompromisingly  suspicious 
of  strangers. 

The  daughter  of  Sir  George  Fanshawe  Talbot 
(the  chief  personage  in  the  village,  its  local 
magistrate   and  general  patron),  Mary  Talbot, 


THE  DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  41 

as  we  have  already  understood,  was  far  above 
Clegg's  station  in  life  in  an  age  when  the  differ- 
ent classes  of  the  people  were  emphatically  dis- 
tinguished one  from  the  other. 

Sir  George  and  Clegg  were,  however,  on  in- 
timate terms,  not  alone  because  Clegg  interested 
Sir  George,  and  there  was  something  to  learn 
from  him,  but  for  the  reason  that  to  all  intents 
and  purposes  he  was  Sir  George's  partner  in  the 
lead  mine  that  had  done  so  much  toward  the 
mending  of  his  fortunes,  not  to  say  the  making 
of  them.  The  lead  deposits,  their  extent  and 
capability  of  being  worked,  had  been  entirely 
Clegg's  discovery.  The  mine  was  one  of  the 
triumphs  of  the  divining  rod. 

It  must  not  be  understood  from  the  fact  of 
Clegg  establishing  a  belief  in  the  occult  power 
of  the  rod  that  he  was  a  pretender  to  super- 
natural powers,  or  in  any  respect  a  charlatan. 

The  Virgula  Divinatoria,  or  divining  rod,  is 
employed  to  this  day  in  the  Midland  counties 
and  farther  North,  where  the  character  of  the 
districts  is  metalliferous.  If  at  the  end  of  the 
nineteenth  century  this  may  be  regarded  only  as 
evidence  of  the  tenacity  of  tradition  and  super- 
stition, the  rod,  in  the  diviner's  hands,  was  con- 
templated with  certain  awe  in  the  days  of  Reu- 
ben Clegg.  It  was  generally  a  forked  twig  of 
the  hazel  tree  or  the  white  thorn.  Held  in  a 
peculiar  way,  at  an  angle  of  seventy  degrees,  it 
was  grasped  strongly  and  steadily  in  the  hand. 
The  operator  walked  over  the  ground,  and  wlieii 
he   crossed   a  lode   the   twig  bent.     A   similar 


42       THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

course  was  adopted  for  the  discovery  of  water , 
and  local  newspapers  of  the  present  year  of 
1896  contain  accounts  of  the  finding  of  an  un- 
suspected and  valuable  spring  by  a  Midland 
counties  diviner. 

Clegg  had  a  knowledge  of  the  mysteries  of 
things,  and  had  studied  the  geological  formation 
of  the  district  of  Eyam.  In  his  hands  the  divin- 
ing rod  may  have  been  thoughtfully  directed, 
though  Clegg  assuredly  believed  in  the  assist- 
ance of  its  peculiar  powers.  Besides  his  other 
gifts — and  reading  and  writing  were  by  some 
regarded  as  gifts  of  Providence  at  that  time — 
Clegg  was  a  man  of  parts,  and  a  notable  figure 
in  the  villages  that  were  dotted,  here  and  there, 
at  long  distances  apart,  among  the  hills  of  the 
High  Peak  Hundred. 

Sometimes  Clegg  wished  that  Mary  Talbot, 
besides  being  the  prettiest  girl  in  the  village, 
had  been  the  poorest;  for  then,  perhaps,  his  abil- 
ity to  provide  her  with  a  more  than  ordinarily 
furnished  house  might  have  had  weight  ^vith 
her.  But  she  was  not  only  his  superior  in  re- 
spect of  the  world's  goods  (she  was  her  father's 
only  child,  and  heiress  to  property  bequeathed 
by  her  mother),  but  they  were  still  further  sepa- 
rated by  the  barrier  of  descent. 

The  Talbots  were  an  old  and  aristocratic 
family.  Reuben  Clegg  belonged  to  the  yeo- 
manry of  the  county,  and  held  a  few  acres  of 
land  that  had  come  down  to  him  through  several 
generations.  He  was,  however,  of  no  account 
measured  by  the  standard  of  the  great  landed 


THE   DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS  48 

gentry,  though  for  a  time  it  had  been  consider- 
ably lowered  through  the  Revolution.  That 
was  all  over  now,  and  under  the  Restoration 
the  old  arrogance  of  blood  was  beginning  to 
make  itself  felt  again;  not  in  Eyam,  perhaps, 
for  nothing  had  much  altered  the  manners  and 
customs  of  Eyam — Monarchy,  Democracy,  Re- 
publicanism, Imperialism,  Papism,  Presbyteri- 
anism — until  a  year  or  two  previous  to  the  be- 
ginning of  this  present  history,  when  Anne  of 
Stafford  married  Francis  Bradshaw,  bringing  to 
the  Old  Hall,  near  Eyam,  more  than  a  quarter 
of  a  million  sterling,  together  with  a  strong 
leaning  toward  Roman  Catholicism  and  much 
fashionable  ostentation. 

The  Old  Hall  was  parLly  new  in  those  days, 
being  an  extension  of  the  magnificent  house  of 
the  Staffords.  It  was  by  reason  of  an  ambitious 
scheme  for  the  beautifying  and  decoration  of  a 
recently  added  new  wing  that,  as  if  by  magic, 
the  narrow  road  below  Clegg's  cottage  was  filled 
with  that  strange  procession.  The  travelers  had 
begun  their  pilgrimage  in  the  sunny  streets  of 
Florence  and  Verona,  to  take  ship  from  the  his- 
toric quays  of  Venice  and  thence  to  the  Thames, 
meeting  their  guards  and  attendants  in  London, 
and  journeying  day  by  day  through  the  strange 
land  into  the  heart  of  the  North  Midland  coun- 
ties. 

Reuben  Clegg  was  a  little  over  thirty,  Mary 
Talbot  in  her  twenty-first  year;  both  looked 
older  than  their  age,  Clegg  from  exposure  to  the 
weather  and  a  hard  life  of  physical  labor  and 


44  THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

mental  study,  Mary  by  reason  of  her  finely  de- 
veloped figure  and  perhaps  a  certain  habit  of 
authority.  Just  as  Reuben  was  beyond  the 
other  natives  of  the  village  in  cultivation  and 
knowledge,  so  was  Mary  Talbot  beyond  other 
girls  in  her  womanly  manner,  her  commanding 
figure  and  the  maturity  of  her  charms.  It  must 
not  be  understood  by  this  that  she  was  a  rural 
Betty  or  a  pastoral  Dorothy,  of  ample  bust  and 
ruddy  features,  a  ripe  peach  of  young  woman- 
hood, a  village  belle  such  as  the  old  painters 
depicted  riding  pillion  with  father  or  mother  to 
market;  she  was  quite  another  kind  of  person. 

In  the  way  of  dress  she  occasionally  took  a 
hint  from  the  fashions  of  the  ladies  of  the  Old 
Hall,  but  she  had  as  much  discretion  in  this 
connection  as  she  had  exercised  in  checking 
Clegg's  expression  of  admiration.  These,  as  we 
have  seen,  had  to  be  rather  the  language  of  the 
eye  than  the  tongue. 

Clegg  experienced  passing  fears  that  Mary 
might  be  tempted  to  imitate  the  frivolous  habits 
as  well  as  the  showy  gowns  and  low  bodices  of 
the  dames  from  the  Old  Hall,  who  gave  Eyam 
its  only  glimpses  of  Metropolitan  manners,  its 
"bad  and  hateful  manners"  Clegg  called  them; 
but  Mary  had  a  way  of  adapting  new  fashions  to 
her  own  individuality  with  a  resultant  harmony 
that  left  no  discord  or  ragged  ends.  She  was 
not  a  perfect  type  of  physical  beauty  by  any 
means.  There  was,  in  fact,  a  lady  sitting  on  one 
of  those  pack-horses  that  were  toiling  up  the 
glen  to  tho  village  street  who  was  far  more 


THE  DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS  45 

lovely  from  a  sculptor's  or  a  painter's  point  of 
view;  but  Mary  had  a  peculiar  charm  of  her 
own  that  was  irresistible;  even  women  felt  it, 
and  every  man  acknowledged  it.  She  was  of 
an  exceedingly  fair  complexion,  in  which  she 
might  be  regarded  as  typically  English.  Her 
hair  was  a  light  brown.  When  the  sun  shone 
into  its  tresses  they  were  golden;  though  in  no 
respect  to  be  compared  with  what  we  in  these 
degenerate  days  call  golden — towy,  d3'ed,  life- 
less locks  with  which  women  mock  their  natural 
complexions.  It  was  hair  that  possessed  the 
gloss  of  life  and  health,  and  when  it  was  not 
gathered  up  in  a  mass  beneath  a  kerchief  or 
French  hood  it  was  looped  negligently  about  her 
head,  and  looked  what  a  woman's  hair  was  once 
regarded — the  chief  glory  of  her  person.  She 
carried  herself  with  an  easy,  graceful  manner, 
was  of  a  cheerful  temper,  and  inclined  to  be 
coquettish. 

Clegg  sometimes  feared  she  laughed  merely  to 
show  her  teeth,  that  were  white  and  regular, 
though  dentistry  in  those  days  was  neither  an 
art  nor  a  profession,*  You  could  hardly  telj 
what  was  the  color  of  her  eyes.  Nor  were  her 
eyebrows  quite  regularly  arched,  but  they  gave 
character  to  the  face,  which  was  not  ennobled 
with  the  kind  of  nose  that  is  said  to  indicate 
aristocratic  origin;  it  was  nevertheless  delicate, 
the  clean-cut  nostrils,  rather  open,  betokening 
good  temper  and  artistic  feeling.  Her  mouth 
was  of  a  generous  mold — too  generous,  perhaps 
— according  with  her  disposition,  which  induced 


46  THE   DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS 

what  in  cities  would  be  regarded  as  undue  trust- 
fulness in  overemphasized  friendships,  the  weak- 
ness of  the  unsophisticated. 

A  disposition  of  this  kind,  however,  was  quite 
in  keeping  with  the  village  life  of  Eyam,  where 
everybody  knew  each  other,  the  community 
being  more  or  less  one  family,  with  its  black 
sheep  it  is  true,  its  internal  quarrels  and  troubles, 
its  joys  and  sorrows,  but  all  open  and  above- 
board  ;  no  hole-and-corner  conspiracies,  no  secret 
distresses,  no  creeping  into  back  garrets  to  die, 
no  robberies  and  murders,  such  as  belong  to  the 
dark  side  of  cities ;  a  happy  human  village,  with 
one  or  two  rich  inhabitants,  the  rest  more  or  less 
on  an  equality  of  decent  poverty,  some  living  out 
of  their  bit  of  land,  a  few  by  their  looms,  a  hand- 
ful of  men  working  at  the  Winship  Lead  Mine. 
These  latter  were  regarded  as  skilled  laborers — 
they  were  of  a  different  type  from  the  miners  of 
the  present  day. 

Around  this  interesting  community  stretches 
a  romantic  country  of  hill  and  dale.  Perched 
upon  a  platform  above  the  valley  of  the  Derwent, 
the  long  village  street,  setitineled  by  rugged  oak 
and  elm,  has  Bradwell  Edge  running  up  against 
the  sky  to  the  westward  and  below  the  romantic 
dale  of  Middleton.  It  is  connected  with  the  lat- 
ter by  two  precipitous  openings  called  Eyam 
Dale  and  the  Delf,  the  one  destined  to  a  double 
fame  in  these  annals  as  the  scene  of  a  tragedy 
and  the  other  for  its  natural  pulpit  of  a  hero  of 
the  Church — but  not  for  that  Church  which  had 
for  its  more  or  less  secret  representative  the 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS      47 

hooded  priest  who  was  watching  from  the  high- 
est window  of  the  Old  Hall  for  the  coming  of 
his  countrymen,  according  to  advices  from 
Father  Lorenzo  in  Venice,  and,  more  recently, 
from  Lady  Stafford  in  London. 


CHAPTER    SEVEN 

THE  PAGEANT  OF  THE  PACK-HORSES 

The  picturesque  procession  of  pack-horses  had 
commenced  the  journey  from  the  Mersej'.  Liv- 
erpool had  only  been  twenty  years  a  free  port, 
having  been  hitherto  subject  to  the  authority  of 
Chester. 

The  vessel  that  had  winged  her  way  from  the 
Adriatic  to  the  Irish  Sea,  and  finally  anchored  at 
the  mouth  of  the  Mersey,  had  landed  her  passen- 
gers at  the  nearest  point  for  Eyam  instead  of 
making  the  port  of  London,  whence  it  would 
have  been  necessary  to  transport  them  by  car- 
riage to  Derbyshire,     c 

A  carriage  and  six  horses,  with  relays  along 
the  route,  was  necessary  for  a  journey  from 
London  to  the  Peak.  Nor  would  six  horses  have 
been  sufficient  for  the  Old  Hall's  foreign  guests, 
considering  the  amuunt  of  luggage  they  carried. 
Apart  from  their  personal  effects  and  wardrobes, 
they  brought  the  tools  and  appliances  of  their 
arts,  and  these  were  both  various  and  many. 

Pack-horses  traversed  the  country  from  Lon- 


48       THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

don,  but  as  a  rule  only  with  goods.  The  hum- 
bler sort  of  persons  journeyed  between  the  laden 
panniei's,  but  at  little  more  than  a  walking  pace. 
It  was,  however,  no  great  distance  from  Liver 
pool  to  Eyam,  though  not  devoid  of  difficulties 
and  dangers.  Arranging  for  intervals  of  rest, 
the  pack-horse  had  been  deemed  the  best  method 
for  conveying  the  strangers  from  the  Mersey  to 
the  valley  of  the  Derwent. 

History  records  the  first  daring  innovation  in 
the  way  of  transit  as  having  been  made  at  about 
this  time  in  the  first  "Flj^ing  Coach,"  which  had 
been  constructed  and  horsed  to  perform  the 
journey  between  London  and  Oxford  between 
sunrise  and  sunset. 

It  was  in  the  autumn  of  1663,  when  the 
pageant  of  the  pack-horses  was  seen  entering  the 
defile  of  Middleton  Dale,  watched,  from  their 
cottage  door,  as  we  have  seen,  by  Reuben  Clegg 
and  his  mother,  and  eagerly  scanned  from  a 
greater  distance  by  Father  Castelli. 

Presently,  a  rare  gleam  of  color  among  the 
rocks  and  foliage  of  the  valley,  it  mounted  the 
steep  ascent  and  entered  the  village  street.  Its 
incidents  of  blue  and  gold  and  flashes  of  burn- 
ished harness  met  with  a  bright  rivalr}^  of  varied 
hues  in  the  garden  flowers  that  could  be  seen, 
through  the  fences  and  over  the  garden  walls  of 
nearly  every  dwelling  place. 

Early  as  the  period  was  in  the  history  of  gar- 
dening, Eyam  made  a  rare  horticultural  show, 
promoted  and  encouraged  by  her  great  festival 
of  the  year,  which  has  descended  to  her  neigh- 


THE   DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS  49 

bors,  and  is  still  celebrated  in  the  year  of  grace 
1896,  when  spring  came  as  usual  to  Tissingtou 
with  its  fete  of  Ascension,  a  religious  ceremonial 
that  links  the  festivals  of  ancient  Italy  with  the 
Christian  observances  of  the  third  and  fourth 
centuries,  and  thence  onward  to  the  present  day, 
though  nowhere  else  in  England  is  Christ's  As- 
cension celebrated  as  it  is  in  the  valley  of  the 
Derwent,  and  as  it  was  in  the  earlj^  days  of 
Eyam. 

It  is  strange  that  Roubillac,  the  painter,  and 
his  dark-eyed  companions  should  have  traveled 
from  the  Adriatic  Sea  to  find  in  one  of  the  most 
remote  villages  of  England  a  survival  of  their 
ancient  festal  tribute  to  Flora. 

Eyam  had  gathered  her  first  flowers  of  the 
budding  year  and  dressed  her  wells  and  sung  its 
Glorias  over  her  fountains  in  the  latter  days  of 
May,  1663,  had  also  held  her  annual  wakes,  and 
had  settled  down  to  the  storage  of  her  oats  and 
wheat,  and  her  vegetables  and  fruits,  for  the 
coming  winter;  for  it  was  now  autumn,  with 
l)rown  and  yellow  leaves  on  the  trees,  a  carpet 
of  the  same  on  the  roadways,  and  at  night  the 
hunters'  moon  up  in  the  blue  heavens. 

There  was  no  smoke  of  coal  to  dim  the  silver 
X)lanet's  radiance;  and  she  had,  one  cannot  help 
believing,  more  light  to  reflect  from  her  lord  the 
sun  than  is  vouchsafed  to  her  in  these  latter 
days,  if  the  poetry  of  the  time  may  be  trusted 
as  a  guide  to  the  character  of  the  seasons.  We 
are  apt  to  decorate  the  past  with  a  sunshine  that 
obtains  an  added  glow  from  the  imagination. 


60  THE   DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS 

If  a  century  is  but  a  geological  second,  the 
two  hundred  and  sixty  odd  years  upon  which  we 
are  looking  back  can  hardly  have  had  bluer  skies 
than  are  still  vouchsafed  to  the  pastoral  stretches 
of  English  country  where  the  perfumes  of  peat 
and  wood  fires  still  permeate  the  wholesome 
atmosphere. 

Every  cottage  in  the  village  was  alive  with 
spectators  as  the  foreign  procession  began  to  file 
along  the  village  street  with  jingle  of  harness  and 
crack  of  whips  and  chatter  of  foreign  tongues. 

Most  of  the  houses  were  built  of  stone  quarried 
in  the  neighborhood,  and  thickly  thatched,  the 
roofs  brown  and  yellow  with  lichen  or  green 
with  house-leek.  As  a  rule  they  were  detached 
dwelHngs,  though  here  and  there  two  or  three 
were  joined  together.  The  doors  were  square, 
with  heavy  stone  joists,  though  archway  en- 
trances varied  the  primitive  style  in  some  in- 
stances, with  the  addition  of  decorative  window 
jams.  Small  diamond  panes,  some  of  them  with 
bulbous  centers — bottle-panes  we  call  them  now 
• — were  general;  and  the  architectural  line  of 
roofs  and  gables  was  agreeably  broken,  with  a 
picturesque  effect  of  outline  in  stone  and  thatch, 
and  overhanging  trees,  in  one  heavy  clump  of 
which  a  rookery  had  been  suddenly  awakened 
into  inquisitive  cries  and  bustle.  Their  ragged 
nests  could  be  seen  among  the  swaying  leaves, 
clusters  of  which,  shaken  by  the  unusual  fluster 
of  the  cawing  lodgers,  fluttered  down  into  the 
roadway. 

Roubillac,  the  painter,  noticed  all  this,  and 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  51 

drew  the  attention  of  his  wife  to  the  various  in- 
cidents that  appealed  to  his  artistic  vision. 

They  had  pulled  up,  with  the  rest,  before  the 
unpretentious  portals  of  the  village  inn,  the 
Crown  and  Anchor,  the  sign  of  which  was 
swinging  from  a  curiously -wrought  iron  bracket, 
riveted  upon  a  flag- pole  in  the  center  of  an  open 
space,  the  house  being  set  back  from  the  high- 
way; and  it  had,  near  the  entrance  door,  an 
oaken  bench,  and  a  small  fountain  that  made 
rippling  music  in  a  drinking-trough  for  cattle. 

Eyam  was  noted  for  its  plentiful  supply  of 
water,  and  not  the  least  interesting  point  along 
the  street  was  the  deep  pool  that  reflected  the 
leafy  surroundings  and  patches  of  blue  sky  near 
the  Manor  House,  the  only  important  residence 
in  the  village  street.  It  was  set  back,  like  the 
village  inn,  but  with  a  stone-paved  courtyard 
and  a  walled-in  garden  and  bowling-green. 

At  the  tall  iron  gates  af  the  Manor  House,  as 
the  procession  had  filed  by,  stood  Sir  George 
Fanshawe  Talbot,  knight  and  baronet,  and  his 
daughter,  Mary  Talbot,  with  a  few  servants  at 
their  back,  not  in  attendance,  as  it  might  have 
seemed,  but  spectators,  like  their  master  and  the 
belle  and  beauty  of  Eyam,  to  whom,  as  they 
passed,  the  Italians  had  doffed  their  caps.  Each 
of  the  travelers  sat  between  two  baskets  or 
panniers,  that  were  filled  with  various  kinds 
of  baggage. 

At  the  Crown  and  Anchor  the  travelers  dis- 
mounted, with  sighs  and  laughter,  some  of  them 
tired  and  weary,  others  too  delight<:;d  with  the 


52       THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

prospect  of  the  journey's  ending  to  restrain  their 
expressions  of  joy.  Signor  Bernardo  Roubillac 
appeared  to  be  the  chief  personage,  and  Signora 
Roubillac  his  principal  charge.  She  was  much 
younger  than  he,  and,  at  a  glance,  while  the 
procession  was  passing  the  Manor  House,  Mary 
Talbot  felt  that  here  was  a  rival  beauty,  dark 
and  gypsy-like  though  she  might  be.  It  inter- 
ested her  deeply  to  learn  that  she  would  be  likely 
to  be  the  guest  of  the  Old  Hall  for  some  time. 
Both  she  and  her  father  found  it  difficult  to  quite 
realize  the  importance  of  mere  painters  or  artifi- 
cers, but  Sir  George  had  been  to  court  and  had 
learned  in  what  estimation  these  Florentine 
artists  were  held ;  and  he  had  reason  to  believe 
that  in  securing  the  services  of  Roubillac  and  his 
companions  the  Bradshaws  had  been  honored  by 
the  king's  own  advice  and  introduction. 

Bernardo  Roubillac  had  been  commissioned  to 
decorate  my  lady's  chamber  in  the  Italian  man- 
ner, together  with  the  chapel  in  the  new  wing 
of  the  Old  Hall  that  had  been  built  in  honor  of 
her  marriage,  and,  it  may  as  well  be  said,  with 
her  own  money ;  for  she  had  not  only  brought 
fashion  and  courtly  manners  to  her  Derbyshire 
home,  but  wealth — a  matter  of  importance  to  the 
owner.  Although  he  had  escaped  the  general 
plunder  of  the  times,  he  had  gambled  away  his 
estate,  not  in  the  taverns  of  London,  but  at  the 
Wells  that  had  suddenly  become  the  resort  of  a 
handful  of  the  nobility,  within  a  day's  journey 
of  the  little-known  village  of  Eyam. 

Mary  Talbot's  intuitive    appreciation  of  the 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS       53 

beauty  of  the  foreign  lady  was  fully  justified  by 
the  reahty.  Nor  was  Mary  the  only  person  to 
be  unpressed  by  the  new  comer.  The  villagers 
maintained  a  respectful  distance  while  the  trav- 
elers alighted  at  the  inn,  A  few,  more  actively 
inquisitive  than  the  rest,  stood  by  the  inn  door, 
several  of  the  men  lending  a  hand  to  the  mule- 
teer-like attendants  in  loosening  the  harness  of 
the  horses  and  helping  to  water  them.  Other- 
wise, most  of  the  villagers  contented  themselves 
by  standing  at  their  doors  or  looking  out  from 
their  windows ;  and  the  majority  were  women, 
the  men  being  at  work  in  the  fields  or  at  the 
Winship  Mine. 

Nor  were  the  Italians  altogether  singular  in 
the  artistic  cut  and  color  of  their  clothes.  The 
villagers  were  mostly  in  somber  colors,  but  they 
wore  the  hood  with  which  ladies  themselves 
enveloped  their  heads  when  they  wore  no  com- 
mode; and  when  dressed  in  their  best,  as  on 
Sundays,  they  donned  a  hat  with  the  brim 
slightly  turned  up,  a  laced  bodice,  sleeves  slightly 
puffed  and  with  cuffs  and  narrow  frills ;  at  the 
waist  a  gay  bunch  of  ribbon  secured  the  apron, 
and  upon  the  high-heeled,  sharp-pointed  shoes 
they  also  sported  smart  bows  of  ribbon.  The 
men  attired  themselves  very  much  after  the  man- 
ner of  the  pack-horse  attendants,  in  buff  jerkin 
and  hose  of  calves'  leather,  with  round  felt  hat 
of  the  Charles  pattern,  or  of  the  more  formal 
cut  of  the  Roundhead.  There  was  a  good  deal 
of  variety  in  the  men's  clothes,  since  the  severity 
of  the  Puritau  was  once  moro  merging  into  the 


54  THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS 

gay  and  negligent  attire  of  the  cavalier.  Sir 
George  Fanshawe  Talbot,  for  instance,  wore  his 
lace  cloak  and  well-trimmed  pointed  beard  and 
rapier,  like  the  old  Tory  that  he  was,  though 
he  did  not  permit  his  daughter  Mary  to  emulate 
the  ladies  of  the  Old  Hall,  except  with  such 
modest  adaptation  of  curls  and  furbelows  as 
might  become  the  virtuous  maiden  who,  besides 
maintaining  the  dignity  of  her  position,  should 
set  a  fair  example  to  her  humble  sisters  of  Eyam. 

The  Signora  Francesca,  wife  of  the  painter 
Roubillac,  wore  a  gown  of  a  rich  material  that 
had  never  yet  been  seen  in  Eyam,  even  when  the 
ladies  of  the  Old  Hall  had  descended  upon  the 
church  at  Easter,  or  had  graced  the  festival  of 
the  Springs  with  their  presence.  It  was  of  a 
deep  blush  red,  a  new  color  even  in  Italy,  and 
had  a  sheen  that  flashed  in  the  sun  and,  by  con- 
trast, made  the  black  silk  and  soft-lined  cloak  or 
mantle  that  fell  from  her  shoulders  in  a  straight 
line  to  her  dainty  heels  black  as  her  raven  hair, 
which  rippled  in  masses  from  a  small  close-fit- 
ting cap  fastened  to  her  tresses  with  silver  pins. 
It  was  hardly  a  traveling  costume,  and  yet  it 
seemed  quite  regular  and  appropriate  to  the 
wearer. 

The  signora  looked  round  upon  the  scene  with 
soft  dreamy  eyes,  violet  in  color,  a  marked  con- 
trast to  her  hair  and  her  olive  complexion.  Her 
face  was  oval,  and  her  under  lip  had  a  dimple 
in  it,  as  if  there  was  a  hidden  smile  there  that 
Love  had  not  yet  lighted  upon.  Her  beauty 
was  Oriental,  foreign,  luscious,  and  yet  it  sug- 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  55 

gested  restraint,  self-suppression,  something  of 
introspecti<3n ;  altogether  different  from  Rou- 
billac,  whose  heart  seemed  to  look  out  from  his 
eyes,  now  and  then  with  an  anxious  kind  of 
happiness,  now  and  then  with  a  burning  inspira- 
tion. His  was  an  ascetic  face ;  long,  pale,  closely 
shaven,  almost  Dantesque.  He  also  wore  a  long 
cloak,  not  ample,  as  cloaks  are  made  in  these 
days,  but  fitting  almost  close  to  the  figure.  He 
also  wore  the  bechetto  or  scarf,  flung  loosely 
round  his  breast.  When  his  cloak  was  flung 
back,  showing  its  purple  silk  lining,  the  front 
folds  of  the  bechetto  partly  hid  the  closely  but- 
toned vest,  with  its  linen  collar,  but  altogether 
unlike  the  cut  of  the  bodice  of  the  signora;  and 
they  both  wore  a  band  round  their  necks — Rou- 
billac,  some  Order  of  Honor  terminating  in  a 
burnished  star,  the  lady,  a  rich  necklet  of  beads 
of  many  hues  and  shapes. 

When  the  steward  rode  down  from  the  Old 
Hall  to  conduct  them  thither,  they  had  already 
entered  the  village  inn.  The  steward  said  it 
was  his  master's  wish  that  they  should  go 
straightway  to  the  Old  Hall  without  resting  at 
the  village,  seeing  that  their  destination  was 
only  a  mile  hence,  and  every  preparation  had 
been  made  for  their  reception. 

Signor  Roubillac,  however,  explained  that  the 
signora  had  desired  to  rest  a  while  before  their 
reception  at  the  Old  Hall.  No  further  answer 
was  deemed  necessary,  for  what  the  signora  de- 
sired was  law  to  Roubillac  and  the  rest,  and  they 
all  adored  her;  and  none  of  them  grudged  her 


56  THE   DAOGER  AND   THE   ("ROSS 

tlie  homage  she  exacted,  for  she  was  a  generous 
mistress,  and  had  done  much  to  glorify  their  art, 
and  was  beloved  of  all  in  Venice. 

They  were  a  remarkable  little  company ;  mo- 
saic workers  from  Venice,  wood-carvers  from 
Florence,  and  painters  from  Verona,  with  Rou- 
billac  at  their  head — the  Roubillac  who  had  re- 
vealed his  genius  in  the  Church  of  San  Stefano, 
at  Verona,  in  an  altar-piece  that  had  suddenly 
given  him  a  foremost  place  among  the  painters 
of  the  great  cities  of  the  Art  world  of  Italy. 

It  was  to  his  wife,  Francesca,  that  he  owed 
the  inspiration  for  that  great  work,  and  the  most 
sublime  achievement  of  the  painter,  in  the  cen- 
tral figure  of  the  group,  was  done  from  a  study 
of  Francesca  herself.  It  was  no  mere  blonde 
angel,  with  blue  eyes  and  golden  hair;  but  a 
flesh  and  blood  realization  of  beauty,  with  the 
glow  of  heaven  on  its  rich  complexion,  and  the 
divine  light  shining  among  its  raven  tresses — a 
novel  treatment,  and  full  of  startling  contrasts 
of  form  and  color  and  idealized  womanhood  that 
fifted  the  sister  angels  into  a  rivalry  of  adora- 
tion. 

Several  of  the  men  (some  of  them  mere  arti- 
ficers and  assistants)  had  brought  their  wives. 
Signora  Roubillac  was  attended  by  her  maid. 
There  were  also  several  serving- women,  for 
Lady  Stafford's  agents  and  the  good  Father 
Lorenzo  at  Venice  had  taken  up  her  instructions 
with  no  niggard  hands.  Her  ladyship,  moved 
by  an  impulse  of  ambition,  and  the  first  stirrings 
of  English  aspirations  toward  decorative  art,  had 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS       57 

resolved  to  have  no  other  palace  in  the  Peak 
outvying  the  Old  Hall,  and  there  was  no  longer 
any  Bess  of  Hardwick  to  compete  with. 

Thus  it  was  that  Eyam  rose  up  on  an  eventful 
day  to  assist  at  a  peaceful  invasion  of  foreigners, 
but  for  whose  advent  this  romance  of  the  moun- 
tain village  of  the  Peak  would  have  had  little 
"raison  d'etre,"  notwithstanding  certain  other 
engrossing  passages  of  an  impressive  history. 


CHAPTER  EIGHT 

THE  CONSTABLE  WHO  NEVER  HEARD  OF  DOG- 
BERRY 

"A  MONSTROUS  ungodly  lot!"  remarked  Hum- 
phrey Dakin,  the  constable  of  Eyam,  looking 
for  approval  toward  Reuben  Clegg,  who  saun- 
tered up  to  the  little  crowd  by  the  inn  door  as 
the  foreign  procession  with  its  muleteer-like  at- 
tendants resumed  its  march,  making  for  the  Old 
Hall,  which  could  be  seen  from  the  village  street 
among  the  half-stripped  trees. 

"Nay,  everything  seems  ungodly  to  thee, 
Dakin,  that  thou  canst  not  understand,"  said 
Clegg. 

"That's  one  for  t'  constable,"  said  John  Rad- 
ford, the  master  of  the  Crown  and  Anchor, 
thrusting  his  big  hands  into  the  ample  pockets 
of  his  long  broidered  vest. 

Radford  was  a  burly  fellow,  with  coarse  feat- 


58  THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS 

ures  and  a  coarser  laugh.  He  rolled  in  his  gait 
and  gurgled  in  his  speech.  He  forced  his  good 
humor.  It  was  his  business  to  be  mirthful — so 
he  thought,  at  least. 

The  bystanders  laughed  at  his  observation 
from  sheer  goodwill.  They  didn't  love  Clegg 
any  more  than  they  loved  the  constable;  the 
first  was  something  of  a  mystery  to  them,  and 
the  second  was  ostentatious  in  his  office,  an 
exaggerated  imitation  of  the  magisterial  man- 
ner of  Sir  George  Fanshawe  Talbot.  They  re- 
membered that  the  constable  had  once  upon  a 
time  been  wont  to  call  Clegg  ungodl}^,  which 
Clegg  had  taken  a  subtle  opportunity  of  resent- 
ing without  seeming  to  do  so.  There  had  been 
a  friendly  wrestling  match  on  the  Green  at  the 
Feast,  and  Clegg,  in  a  bout  with  Dakin,  had 
flung  him  somewhat  viciouslj^,  to  the  laming 
of  the  constable  for  half  a  year. 

"Well,  come.  Master  Reuben,"  said  the  con- 
stable, "if  I  say  a  thing's  ungodly,  it's  in  a 
promiscuous  way  and  moun't  be  taken  as  a  mat- 
ter of  rebuke,  though  you  do  give  forth  oi^inions 
out  of  the  common  when  the  Catechism  is  con- 
sidered, and  such." 

"There's  no  need  to  go  much  out  of  what  thou 
calls  the  common  to  puzzle  thee,  old  Dogberry," 
Clegg  replied. 

"Why 'old  Dogberry'?"  said  Dakin,  pursing 
his  lips  and  puffing  out  his  buttoned  cloak. 

"Because  thou'rt  such  a  Solon,  Dakin;  and 
Dogberry  was  a  wise  constable  who  knew  his 
office  and  was  as  pretty  a  piece  of  flesh  as  any 


THE   DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSR  59 

in  Messina,  and  comprehended  the   lav/,  mark 
you." 

"I  never  heard  of  the  fellow,"  Dakin  replied, 
"and  I  suspect  thou'rt  laughing  at  me  in  thy 
sleeve ;  an'  if  thou  art,  beware  if  one  daj^  the 
laugh  doth  not  come  to  my  turn,  in  the  course  of 
Nature." 

"I  shall  remember,"  Clegg  replied;  and  the 
bystanders  winked  knowingly  one  to  the  other 
as  much  as  to  say,  "There  will  be  things  worth 
seeing  when  that  comes  about,"  little  dreaming 
how  soon  the  constable's  turn  might  come. 

"The  law's  not  to  be  ridiculed  contumacious- 
ly," said  the  constable,  glaring  upon  the  crowd. 
"And  a  constable's  a  constable,  mark  you, 
whether  his  name  be  Dakin  or  Dogberry — a 
fellow  that  I  say  is  unknown  to  me,  and  is  of 
no  account  in  the  Hundred  of  the  Peak,  where 
there's  no  such  place  as  Messina,  and  nothing 
like  it." 

"Ho,  ho!  Ha,  ha!"  gasped  Radford,  who 
felt  that  it  was  time  to  get  a  laugh  into  the  con- 
versation. His  guffaw  met  with  no  response 
from  the  crowd. 

' '  Whether  they  be  ungodly  or  no.  Master  Con- 
stable," said  Clegg,  "I  cannot  say,  but  I  agree 
with  you  in  the  remark  that  yonder  strangers 
are  a  queer  lot." 

Then  turning  to  Jacob  Cutts,  the  tailor,  he 
asked,  "Marked  you  the  woman  with  the  shin- 
ing robes,  something  after  the  Queen  of  Sheba?" 
"Indeed  and  I  did,"  replied  Cutts,  in  mild 
voice  and  with  deferential  manner.     He  was  thin 


60  THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS 

and  under  the  medium  height,  his  face  cleanly 
shaven,  his  hair  oiled  and  cuily,  his  costume  a 
modification  of  the  Cromwellian  and  the  Royal- 
ist, a  compromise  to  suit  the  tastes  of  his  cus- 
tomers. He  was  the  only  tailor  for  miles  round, 
and  he  had  of  late  become  a  person  of  importance 
in  the  village,  for  he  had  been  employed  by  more 
than  one  visitor  to  the  Old  Hall.  Once  in  two 
or  three  years  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  receiv- 
ing patterns  and  complete  outfits  all  the  way 
from  the  capital ;  recently  he  had  given  out  that 
this  would  be  an  annual  custom. 

"And  the  gj'psy  took  my  attention  also,"  said 
the  constable,  comforted  somewhat  by  Clegg's 
indorsement  of  his  opinion  of  the  foreigners. 
"And  when  you  came  up  Ave  were  say  in'  that 
she  might  have  been  the  Jezebel  of  Scripture 
herself  if  she  hadn't  been  so  much  like  what  they 
call  the  Scarlet  Lad}'  of  Rome." 

"I  see  you  desire  to  comprehend  her,"  said 
Clegg,  with  just  the  flicker  of  a  cynical  smile  at 
the  corners  of  his  sensitive  lips. 

"No,  Master  Clegg,  I  had  no  thought  of  it. 
God  forbid  she  should  come  into  my  hands !  An' 
if  I  had  the  locking  of  her  up  in  the  round-house 
I'd  expect  her  to  vanish  through  the  keyhole,  for 
I  misdoubt  me  she's  no  better  than  a  witch,  with 
hair  as  black  as  a  crow,  and  eyes  that  are  full  of 
the  Evil  One,  and  such!" 

"Nonsense,  Dakin;  nonsense,  neighbors," 
Clegg  replied,  addressing  all  the  bystanders. 
"If  I  said  the  strangers  seemed  a  queer  lot,  I 
had  no  meaning  of  such  rank  disparagement  as 


THE  DAGGER  AXD  THE  CROSS       (il 

the  constable.  Yonder  woman,  look  you,  comes 
from  a  land  where  the  sun  always  shines,  and 
the  common  people  speak  poetry  better  than  the 
songs  of  Jasper,  the  minstrel  of  Hallamshire; 
it's  natural  to  them.  And  the  village  children 
in  their  country  play  better  music  than  Eyam, 
with  its  psalters  and  its  sackbuts  and  viols, 
makes  on  Sundays  in  the  church.  I've  been 
speaking  with  Sir  George.  They  are  Italians, 
he  tells  me,  come  to  paint  the  Old  Hall  and  fill 
it  with  pictures  of  what  you  call  angels  and  what 
poets  call  gods  and  goddesses;  so  that  yonder 
house  of  Chatsworth,  in  the  valley,  and  all  old 
Bess  of  Hardwick's  fanciful  architecture  and 
decoration  shall  be  eclipsed,  as  the  sun  eclipses 
the  moon,  by  the  Staff ord-Bradshaws." 

The  constable,  Radford,  Cutts  and  the  rest 
looked  at  each  other  with  bewildered  and  in- 
quiring glances. 

They  knew  nothing  of  gods  and  goddesses. 
One  God  they  kneAv,  and  no  other.  The  rector 
took  care,  so  far  as  he  was  concerned,  they 
shouldn't  forget  Him;  and  his  ejected  contem- 
porary, who  still  lived  in  the  village,  supple- 
mented his  worthy  brother's  endeavors. 

Clegg's  speech  sounded  to  them  Papistical; 
but  the  master  of  the  "Winship  Avas  known  not 
to  favor  any  outward  and  visible  sign  of  faith, 
and  he  held  strangely  unorthodox,  not  to  say 
atheistical  opinions  of  the  future  life.  "Man 
makes  his  own  heaven  and  hell  upon  earth," 
was  one  of  his  mottoes.  Furthermore,  he  had 
declared  that  neither  the  Presbyterians,  the  In- 


62  THE   DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS 

dependents,  the  Catholics,  nor  any  other  profes- 
sional gospelers  had  any  patent  for  saving  souls. 
They  had  all  at  one  time  or  another  heard  him 
say  these  things,  and  they  felt  that  if  there  was 
anything  occult  or  unholy,  schismatic  or  treason- 
able going  on  at  the  Old  Hall  that  was  to  be 
exemplified  in  Pagan  pictures  or  otherwise,  it 
was  Lady  Anne  who  would  be  to  blame. 

"What  Master  Bradshaw  could  have  been 
thinkin'  about  to  espouse  the  woman,  Anne 
Stafford,  is  a  marvel  to  me,"  said  Joshua  Long- 
staffe,  the  cobbler-politician  of  the  village,  voic- 
ing the  thought  that  was  passing  through  the 
minds  of  most  of  the  bystanders. 

"You've  found  your  tongue  at  last,  eh, 
Joshua?"  said  Clegg. 

"I've  been  thinking,  Reuben.  I  am  not  will- 
ing, thou  seest,  to  have  thee  carry  off  the  name 
of  'Old  Thoughtful'  without  a  contest." 

' '  No  need  to  think  much  to  understand  j^onder 
marriage,  and  nobody  does;  but  it's  one  thing 
to  think  in  Eyam,  and  another  to  say  what  you 
think." 

"It's  cost  many  a  better  man  than  thou  his 
head,  Reuben  Clegg,"  said  the  constable,  with- 
out his  usual  circumlocutory  flourish. 

"The  Lady  Anne  was  possessed  of  a  quarter 
of  a  million  sterling  coin  of  the  realm — " 

"And  the  devil  to  boot,"  remarked  the  cobbler. 

"  Which  is  enough  to  make  even  the  devil  him- 
self welcome  in  some  households,"  said  Clegg; 
"and  Bradshaw's  Presbyterianism  wasn't  strong 
enough  to  resist  what  you  call  the  other,  and  at 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS       63 

that  price.  Besides,  and  mark  you  this,  if  the 
man  loved  the  woman,  what  in  the  name  of  all 
you  folk  hold  sacred  does  it  matter  to  him, 
whether  she  believes  the  Mother  of  God  a  more 
important  partner  in  the  heavenly  partnership 
than  the  Son— " 

"Blasphemy!"  exclaimed  Longstaffe. 

"No.  Love!"  retorted  Clegg;  "the  love  that 
God,  as  you  call  Nature,  has  planted  in  the 
human  heart,  that  the  world  might  be  worth 
man's  living  in." 

"Profanation!"  said  Longstaffe, 

"Friends,  neighbors!"  exclaimed  Cutts,  "all 
this  is  beside  the  mark.  What's  it  got  to  do 
with  what  we  was  talking  of,  the  travelers  to 
the  Old  Hall?" 

"Ay,  that's  the  point,"  said  Radford.  "A 
queer  lot,  said  you,  Master  Constable?  I  never 
see  aught  like  them  out  of  a  Morris  dance,  and 
I'd  be  sorry  to  meet  'em  beyond  the  gates  on  a 
dark  night." 

"Hello!"  squeaked  the  tailor,  "Master  Rad- 
ford's serious." 

"Damnation!  A  man  can't  be  always  burst- 
ing of  his  sides  with  laughter,"  the  landlord 
replied,  scowling  at  Cutts,  who  sidled  up  to  the 
constable. 

' '  Let  Radford  alone, ' '  said  Clegg.  "  He  is  not 
so  wise  as  he  looks,  but  he's  handsomer  than  the 
Queen  of  Sheba  yonder  would  think  him." 

The  crowd  sniggered  at  this,  and  the  constable 
said  you  never  knew  how  to  take  Clegg. 


64       THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 


CHAPTER  NINE 

THE  FORESHADOWING  OF  A  COMING  EVENT 

"Ho,  ho!  Ha,  ha!  "When  thou'st  gotten  to 
take  Clegg,"  shouted  the  landlord,  interrupting 
Dakin's  remark  humorously,  "it'll  puzzle  thee, 
Master  Dakin,  I  warrant,  more  than  it  did  to 
hale  Jasper  the  Minstrel  before  the  justice." 

"Most  like,"  said  the  constable.  "Most  like; 
but  if  it  come  in  the  way  of  my  duty  I'd  tackle 
it  if  the  man's  name  was  Goliath  and  he  met  me 
with  the  sling  of  David." 

"Or  the  tailor's  yard  of  Cutts,"  said  Clegg; 
"an'  they  called  him  Touchstone,  and  he  met 
thee  with  a  quip  and  a  quiddity,  tempered  with 
blows  from  a  bladder,  I  doubt  me  not  thou'dst 
have  at  him  all  the  same." 

"That  would  I,  Master  Clegg,  and  I'd  as  lief 
one  as  the  other." 

"Liefer,  no  doubt,"  said  Clegg.  "But  as  for 
neighbor  Radford  not  caring  to  meet  the  stran- 
gers within  our  gates — " 

"I  said  outside.  Master  Clegg,"  interrupted 
the  landlord. 

' '  So  far  as  fearing  to  meet  the  strangers  within 
or  without  our  gates,  I  warrant  me  they  are 
peaceful  folk,  and  they  might  say  the  same  of 
us  as  you,  Radford,  say  of  them,  if  it  should 
have  been  our  lot  to  travel  into  their  country; 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS       65 

for  I  tell  you  that  we  are  accounted  no  better 
than  cutthroats  beyond  seas,  and  I  don't  know 
as  we  are  much  better,  when  it  becomes  our  in- 
terest to  take  a  purse  or  a  ship,  a  life  or  two 
standing  in  our  way. ' ' 

"You  scoff  at  me,  Master  Clegg,  but  I  am 
free  to  say,  and  I  say  it  to  thy  face,  that  for  an 
Englishman  thou'st  gotten  the  most  parlous 
opinions;  and  as  they  favor  the  devil  in  one 
thing,  why  not  in  another?  That's  my  delivery, 
and  I  stand  by  it." 

The  constable  unbuttoned  his  coat  as  he  spoke, 
and  breathed  hard;  he  was  angered. 

"Thou'rt  always  so  clear  and  straight  in  the 
exposition  of  thy  opinion,  Dakin,  that  it's  a 
pleasure  to  listen  to  thee." 

"I  say  thou  speakest  treason  and  heresy  and 
schism;  and  with  moderate  support,  I'd  hold  it 
righteous  and  within  the  law  to  make  arrest  of 
thee." 

Radford's  loud  laugh  was  nipped  in  the  bud 
by  the  crowd,  among  whom  there  were  mur- 
murs of  encouragement  of  the  constable,  and  at 
the  same  time  of  sympathy  with  Clegg,  whose 
hostility  to  the  law  excited  their  admiration,  but 
whose  known  controversial  disposition  on  the 
Creeds  and  the  Sacraments  of  the  Church  made 
them  fear;  for  Eyam,  though  it  had  been  but 
little  disturbed  by  religious  feuds,  had  traditions 
of  the  stake  and  the  gallows.  She  had  been, 
happily,  free  of  both;  but  further  away  the 
Hundred  of  the  Peak  had  contributed  victims  to 
the  animosity  of  the  avowed  followers  of  Christ. 


66  THE   DAGGER  AND   THE    CROSS 

"An  thou  laid'st  thy  hand  upon  me,  constable, 
without  warrant,  I'd  make  thy  bones  rattle. 
Thou'rt  only  an  ass;  it  shames  me  to  challenge 
thee,  mentally  or  physically;  I'm  but  a  fool  to 
do  it.  Get  thee  gone  before  I  do  thee  a  mischief, 
with  thy  prate  of  treason  and  heresy.  An  thy 
Master  Charles  is  restored,  thinkest  thou  free- 
dom is  under  his  heel,  and  that  such  as  thou  may 
browbeat  honest  men?  Out  of  my  sight,  I  tell 
thee!" 

"Nay,  but,  Master  Clegg,"  said  Cutts,  in  his 
mild  voice,  "we  be  all  neighbors,  and  it  befits 
not  that  we  wrangle  here  when  Master  Radford 
has  tapped  last  March  brewing!" 

"Ho,  ho;  ha,  ha!'  now  shouted  the  landlord, 
clapping  his  big  hands  upon  the  constable's 
shoulders  and  pushing  him  into  the  house. 
"Come  along,  friends;  Mistress  Radford  and  my 
daughter  Jane  will  serve  you  with  bread  and 
beer,  an  you  so  desire,  while  I  put  the  spigot 
into  as  fine  a  barrel  of  liquor  as  ever  was  supped 
in  Eyam." 

The  constable  made  some  show  of  resistance 
ere  his  boots  crunched  the  sanded  floor  of  the 
general  room  of  the  Crown  and  Anchor. 

"Won't  you  come  in,  Master  Clegg?"  said 
Longstaffe,  the  cobbler,  pausing  at  the  door, 
where  Clegg  stood  mentally  upbraiding  himself 
for  his  exhibition  of  temper. 

' '  No,  Master  Longstaffe ;  I've  been  fool  enough 
on  the  doorstep  to  be  likely  to  improve  my  man- 
ners over  Radford's  ale." 

"What's  gone  wrong  with  thee,  Clegg?    It's 


I^HE   DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSSl  ^7 

unlike  thee  to  invite  a  brawl.  I  hate  thy  opin- 
ions, nay,  I  lament  them ;  but  I  respect  thy  can- 
dor and  honor  thy  abilities.  If  thou  didst  not 
blaspheme,  I  could  love  thee  as  a  brother." 

"That's  mortal  kind  of  thee,  Master  Long- 
staffe,"  Clegg  replied. 

"Thou  sayest  so  with  denial  in  thy  heart, 
Master  Clegg ;  I  feel  the  bite  of  thy  ill-humor, 
but  I  forgive  thee.     Won't  come  in?" 

"Nay,  I'll  home,"  said  Clegg.  "I'm  not 
good  company  even  for  myself  at  times." 

"Ah,  my  friend,  if  thou'dst  let  thy  mind  rest 
a  bit  on  the  saving  grace  thy  mother's  found, 
thou'dst  be  a  happier  man." 

"Dost  think  so?" 

"I  know  it." 

"And  have  yonder  fools  and  asses,  blether- 
ing over  Radford's  March  brewing,  got  saving 
grace?" 

"Marry,  and  I  hope  so,  leastwise  some." 

"My  mother  has  whatever  is  worth  having  in 
this  world  in  the  way  of  peace  and  love  and 
sweetness,  but  that  comes  by  Nature;  she'd 
have  been  the  same  had  she  been  born  in  the 
days  when  Rome  worshiped  Flora  in  the  way 
that  Eyam  worships  Christ  over  the  springs  at 
Ascension." 

"Nay,  and  thou  art  to  be  counted  among 
the  lost,  I  fear  me,  unless  it  be  God's  purpose  to 
make  a  shining  example  of  thy  great  conversion, 
or  thy  great  punishment.  I'm  but  a  witless 
creature,  Master  Clegg,  peradventure,  with  not 
a  tithe  of  the  talents  the  Master  of  the  Vineyard 


♦i8  THE   DAGGER   AND    THE   CROSS 

hath  intrusted  to  thee ;  but  I  would  not  be  in 
thy  present  shoes  for  all  the  wealth  of  the  Staf- 
ford-Bradshaws  multiplied  by  the  king's." 

"Nay,  and  if  thou  art  to  be  counted  among  the 
prophets,  Joshua,  it  behooves  thee  to  remember 
that  it  was  thou  who  madest  my  shoes ;  and  I 
will  say  this  for  thy  workmanship,  that  tliey 
like  me  well." 

The  village  cordwainer  shook  his  head  mourn- 
fully, and  disappeared  within  the  portals  of  the 
inn. 

Clegg  betook  himself  homeward.  The  wind 
had  risen.  It  was  lifting  the  fallen  leaves  and 
shaking  others  down  from  the  trees.  The  rooks 
protested  in  harsh  cries.  Attacked  by  the  wind, 
their  plumage  was  as  ragged  as  Clegg's  reflec- 
tions. He  passed  the  Manor  House  without 
locking  at  it.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  that  strange 
procession  had  blurred  the  image  of  Mary  Talbot. 

Was  her  fate,  and  his  own,  threatened  in  these 
new  arrivals?  While  Bernardo  Roubillac  had 
come  over  the  seas  that  his  wife  might  fly  from 
the  evil  influence  of  a  daring  and  unholy  passion, 
had  she  brought  in  her  glittering  train  a  danger 
and  a  pestilence?  Clegg  had  no  divining-rod  to 
probe  these  secrets  of  the  future ;  but  such  love 
as  Clegg's  is  often  blessed,  or  cursed,  with 
second  sight. 

Entering  the  garden-path  of  his  cottage,  and 
looking  toward  the  Dale  where  the  foreign  pro- 
cession had  first  come  into  sight,  a  sudden  fear 
took  possession  of  him.  It  was  one  of  those  mo- 
ments when  an  imaginative  man  might  feel  as 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS       69 

if  the  shadow  of  a  cruel  fate  had  passed  between 
him  aud  the  sun.  He  leaned  against  the  great 
elm  that  embowered  his  house,  and  watched  the 
clouds,  through  which  the  evening  sun  was  driv- 
ing fitful  lances,  blood  red.  It  appeared  to  him 
as  if  tlie  clouds  were  being  hurried  forward  by  a 
mighty  hand  to  cover  the  red  reflection ;  and  the 
wind  went  storming  down  the  valley  with  wintry 
messages. 

With  all  Clegg's  learning,  one  might  better 
say  by  reason  of  it,  he  was  superstitious.  If  he 
fought  clear  of  what  he  called  the  superstition  of 
religion,  there  were  a  thousand  puzzling  things 
in  Nature  to  fire  such  an  imagination  as  his, 
softened  as  it  was  and  brought  into  sympathy 
with  the  pathos  of  life  by  his  love  for  Mary  Talbot, 
the  love  of  a  reticent  wooer,  who  kept  his  secret 
in  his  own  heart,  a  strong  man  who  needed  some 
great  opportunity  to  show  his  love  by  a  heroic 
sacrifice  rather  than  disclose  it  and  risk  the  dis- 
covery that  it  was  not  returned. 

"I  am  all  unstrung,"  he  said  to  himself,  "like 
a  broken  harp  or  a  faulty  hazel-wand.  They  ask 
me  what  is  the  matter  with  me.  Well,  what  is? 
1  know  not.  Why  did  I  pass  her  door  and  bend 
my  head?  Why  did  I  avert  my  eyes?  What 
has  come  over  me?  ...  To  the  mystic  art  of 
some,  and  the  ardent  love  of  others,  the  veil  of 
the  future  has  been  raised.  Is  my  hand  upon 
the  curtain  now?" 


70       THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 


CHAPTER   TEN 

THE   COMING   OF   ZILETTO 

The  advent  of  the  Italians  gave  a  new  and 
picturesque  life  to  Eyam. 

It  was  the  policy  of  the  Stafford-Bradshaws 
that  all  possible  hostility,  political  or  religious, 
should  be  avoided  between  the  Old  Hall  and  the 
village.  Father  Castelli  was  diplomat  as  well 
as  priest.  He  had  taken  the  very  earliest  op- 
portunity to  conciliate  the  local  clergy.  He  was 
genial  and  of  a  benevolent  disposition.  The  late 
rector,  Mr.  Stanley,  had  been  inhibited  from  his 
office  under  the  Act  of  Uniformity,  and  the  Rev. 
William  Mompesson  advanced  to  his  position. 
So  much  bitterness  of  feeling  had  been  excited 
in  the  English  Church  itself  by  the  expulsion  of 
the  Presbyterian  clergy  and  the  confiscation  of 
their  property  and  privileges  that  there  was  little 
enthusiasm  left  on  either  side,  at  least  in  this 
part  of  England,  for  active  hostility  against  the 
Roman  Catholics. 

Moreover,  the  land  had  been  so  torn  about  by 
rival  factions  that  everybody  was  anxious  for 
rest,  and  Father  Castelli,  as  a  temporary  so- 
journer, found  his  lot  not  altogether  unpleasant 
at  the  Old  Hall.  Lady  Anne  and  her  husband, 
soon  after  the  arrival  of  the  Italians,  had  left  for 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  71 

the  South,  giving  the  Old  Hall  into  the  hands  of 
their  steward,  the  architect.  Father  Castelli,  and 
the  great  painter  Bernardo  Roubillac. 

Once  a  week  at  least  the  foreigners  descended 
upon  the  village,  visiting  the  few  local  shops, 
and  doing  their  best  to  make  acquaintance  with 
the  natives.  Roubillac,  who  had  begun  to  learn 
the  language  the  very  day  of  sailing  from  Ven- 
ice, easily  made  himself  understood.  Father 
Castelh  spoke  English  with  great  facility,  and 
generally  accompanied  his  countryfolk  on  their 
wanderings  in  and  about  the  village. 

The  foreigners  on  these  occasions  made  a 
brave  show  that  in  these  present  days  of  ugliness 
in  dress  might  find  comparison  in  theatrical 
scenes  from  "Romeo  and  Juliet"  or  "The  Taming 
of  the  Shrew."  For  though  they  had  modified 
somewhat  to  the  colder  climate  their  native  cos- 
tumes, both  men  and  women  wore  the  pictur- 
esque dress  of  the  Italian  city,  making  the  long 
street  of  Eyam  bright  as  a  pageantry.  The  na- 
tive English  wore  a  combination  of  the  costume 
of  the  Puritan  and  the  Royalist,  that  made  no 
poor  show  of  its  own.  The  Restoration  was  too 
recent  for  the  ordinary  folk  to  have  made  much 
change  in  their  attire,  and  the  more  sober  vil- 
lagers who  had  adhered  to  Presbyterianism  with 
Mr.  Stanley  wore  their  long  cloaks  and  girdles, 
the  Orthodox  their  buff  jerkins  and  slouched  hats, 
some  of  them  adding  a  slashed  boot  and  in  their 
hats  a  stray  feather.  The  miners  wore  plain 
leather  boots  in  contradistinction  to  the  few 
weavers  (whose  looms  could  be  heard  clacking 


72       THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

here  and  there  in  the  village  street)  in  their 
breeches,  woolen  hose,  and  buckled  shoes ;  whfie 
the  women  of  the  village  mostly  affected  the 
close  hood  and  band  and  ample  gown,  varied  in 
some  cases  with  the  formal  ruff ;  but  the  younger 
wives  and  girls  had  caught  something  of  the  in 
creased  freedom  of  the  suggestion  of  deshabille 
that  was  observable  in  the  ladies  of  the  Hall, 
with  their  glossy  hair  and  ringlets  and  snowy 
necks,  unveiled  by  even  transparent  lawn  or 
collar.  The  Eyam  maidens  added  the  latter, 
and  Mary  Talbot  frequently  donned  a  buffont  or 
neckerchief.  In  place  of  the  somber  gown  gay 
colors  had  come  in  of  cloth  or  satins,  which  lat- 
ter, however,  were  rarely  seen  except  on  Sun- 
days; and  then  only  upon  a  few,  for  it  was  not 
a  rich  community  this  village  of  Eyam,  though 
it  had  visitors  from  the  outlying  settlements  and 
lordly  halls  that  at  holiday  and  festival  splashed 
its  street  with  the  color  of  her  finery.  Other- 
wise, but  for  its  trees  and  gardens,  it  was  a  pro- 
saic street ;  the  houses  were  of  stone  and  thatch, 
though  the  Manor  House  was  a  fine  example  of 
Tudor  architecture,  as  is  Ej^am  Hall  to  this 
day,  built  on  the  old  site,  and  in  something  of 
th.e  old  form.  Then  there  was  the  church  with 
its  surrounding  foliage,  and  the  green  with  its 
fine  cross.  These  features  offered  varied  and 
effective  backgrounds  for  the  picturesquely  at- 
tired populace,  supplemented  with  the  gayer 
costumes  of  the  strangers  from  the  shores  of  the 
Adriatic. 

Francesca,  the  beauty  of  the  Italian  colony, 


THE   DAGGER  AND  THE   CROSS  7^ 

excited  the  deepest  interest  amoug  the  villagers, 
who  associated  her  with  the  Queen  of  Sheba  ever 
since  Clegg  had  spoken  of  her  in  that  connection. 
They  had  seen  nothing  so  impressive  as  Fran- 
cesca.  It  had  not  been  their  lot  to  witness  a 
play.  No  vagabond  strollers  had  ever  visited 
Eyam.  Some  of  the  elders  of  the  village  had 
seen  wonderful  pictures  in  the  palaces  of  the 
North,  representing  the  Queen  of  Sheba  and 
King  Solomon,  the  Holy  Family,  and  Cleopatra 
in  her  barge,  and  they  discoursed  eloquently  to 
the  younger  people  of  these  wonders,  apropos  of 
Francesca,  who  seemed  to  them  a  living  realiza- 
tion of  the  possibility  of  these,  to  them,  hitherto 
mythical  beings. 

And  Francesca  was  happy  in  her  new  state. 
The  seas  between  her  and  Ziletto,  his  influence 
had  entirely  passed  away.  He  had  made  no  im- 
pression upon  her  heart.  The  influence  he  exer- 
cised over  her  was  occult,  mesmeric,  hypnotic. 
She  called  it  the  evil  eye,  magic,  the  physical  and 
spiritual  power  of  an  evil  genius.  But  from  the 
moment  of  the  flight  from  Venice  his  name  had 
never  been  mentioned.  Roubillac,  recovering 
his  natural  ease  of  manner,  was  more  solicitous 
than  ever  for  Francesca's  peace  of  mind,  and 
their  lives  were  as  happy  as  it  was  possible  in 
what  they  both  con'^pived  to  be  an  exile. 

Roubillac  became  absorbed  in  his  new  altar- 
piece,  which  of  course  he  could  have  painted  at 
home  even  better  than  here  on  the  spot;  but  he 
had  other  duties.  The  entire  decorative  work 
of  the  Old  Hall  was  under  his  direction, 


74  THE  DAGGER  AND  THE   CROSS 

Winter  succeeded  autumn,  and  the  Italians 
ceased,  for  a  time,  and  only  came  down  occa- 
sionally into  the  village.  The  snow  lay  thick 
upon  the  hills  and  deep  in  the  valleys.  Clegg's 
fountain  was  frozen.  All  the  land  was  desolate. 
The  Winship  Mine  was  still  worked,  however, 
and  Clegg's  heart  nourished  its  amhitious  love 
of  Mary  Talbot.  The  village  went  to  bed  soon 
after  sunset.  The  few  lights  after  dark  to  dot 
the  waste  of  snow  and  ice  burned  in  the  windows 
of  the  Crown  and  Anchor,  the  Manor  House, 
and  Clegg's  cottage.  Here  Reuben  consumed 
the  midnight  oil  after  the  work  of  the  day,  and 
stored  his  mind  with  such  miscellaneous  knowl- 
edge as  the  few  books  he  had  acquired  could 
afford,  and  kept,  in  a  corner  of  his  heart,  the 
light  of  his  love  for  Mary  Talbot  trimmed  with 
hope  and  ambition.  Mary  continued  to  encour- 
age him  and  keep  him  off,  and  he  improved  his 
friendship  with  Sir  George,  who,  though  he  was 
a  proud  man,  maintained  a  pleasant  familiarity 
with  Reuben,  reminding  his  daughter  that  Clegg 
was  really  his  partner,  and  therefore  entitled  to 
special  consideration.  Sir  George  had  volun- 
tarily given  Clegg  a  share  of  the  Winship  Mine, 
in  return  for  his  discovery  and  capable  manage- 
ment of  the  enterprise. 

When  spring  once  more  smiled  upon  the  land 
the  Italians  were  again  frequently  seen  in  the 
village.  Several  of  them  had  attended  the  vil- 
lage church  on  Sundays,  interested  more  par- 
ticularly in  the  rector's  choir,  which  was  chiefly 
instrumental.     Cutts,    the    tailor,    was  quite  a 


THE   DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS  75 

mapier  of  the  violoncello;  John  Radford  prayed 
the  double  bass ;  Longstaffe  led  the  singing  on 
the  violin;  Mrs.  Mompesson,  by  her  training  and 
encouragement,  had  developed  the  few  village 
voices  with  a  good  deal  of  skill,  and  the  effect 
was  altogether  new  to  the  foreigners,  who  had 
also  been  greatly  charmed  at  Christmas  time  by 
the  waits  which  had  broken  in  upon  their  slum- 
bers with  a  jubilant  chorus  and  sent  their  mem- 
ories back  to  their  own  land  of  song. 

The  people  of  the  village  treated  the  strangers 
with  respect,  but  with  something  of  suspicion, 
until,  with  the  first  spring  notes  of  the  thrush, 
the  earliest  primroses  and  the  bursting  leaves  of 
the  lilac,  there  arrived  at  Eyam  that  master  of 
manners,  that  prince  of  good  fellowship,  Gio- 
vanni Ziletto,  who  spoke  English  with  an  accent 
as  musical  as  his  voice,  who  drank  with  the  men 
at  the  Crown  and  Anchor,  paid  graceful  court 
to  all  the  women,  and  one  night,  sitting  on  the 
settle  in  the  Crown  and  Anchor's  timbered  old 
house-place,  produced  a  mandolin,  and  charmed 
every  man  there  assembled  with  the  fascinating 
spell  of  a  modern  Apollo.  His  songs  were  in  a 
strange  tongue,  but  they  tuned  men's  hearts  to 
love  and  chivalry  and  new  desires.  The  magic 
of  Ziletto's  music  seemed  almost  miraculous.  It 
stole  out  into  the  open,  drifted  along  the  quiet 
street,  and  brought  half  the  village  to  the  door- 
way and  windows  of  the  hostlery.  It  set  the 
women  no  longer  young  thinking  of  tlieir  girlish 
days.  It  stirred  the  fan(;y  of  the  maidens,  as, 
with  new  ribbons  and  holiday  rambles,  it  fore- 


7(j       THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROr^S 

casted  the  coming  festival  of  the  Wells,  and  car- 
ried the  imagination  further  down  the  year  to 
the  Wakes,  closing  the  summer  with  such  revelry 
as  had  never  yet  been  seen.  Mary  Talbot, 
going  home  from  the  rectory,  where  she  had 
been  listening  to  the  choir's  practice  for  Sunday, 
paused  to  listen,  and  the  weirdly  fascinating 
music  haunted  her  dreams. 

Ziletto  had  entered  the  village  in  a  traveling 
carriage  from  London.  The  postilions  told  of 
frequent  relays  of  horses  en  route,  of  roads  axle- 
deep  in  ruts,  of  an  adventure  with  robbers. 
They  had  an  escort,  which  entered  the  village 
ahead  of  the  princely  traveler,  and  these  horse- 
men had  been  provided  with  stabling  for  them 
selves  and  their  beasts.  Ziletto's  valot  was  a 
mysterious  person,  in  an  unfamiliar  costume. 
He  smiled  in  an  amused  way  at  the  wonder  of 
the  natives  as  the  traveler's  baggage  was  un- 
packed from  the  depths  of  the  lumbering  chariot. 

The  Crown  and  Anchor  was  not  endowed  with 
much  accommodation  for  guests.  Its  resources 
had  been  augmented  of  late,  by  reason  of  the 
improvements  at  the  Old  Hall  bringing  unex- 
pected guests.  Lady  Anne  herself  had  sug- 
gested certain  alterations  of  furniture  and  house- 
keeping to  Mrs.  Radford  that  had  somewhat 
changed  the  domestic  economy  of  the  inn.  Even 
now,  however,  it  only  rejoiced  in  one  best  bed- 
room, the  primitive  aspect  of  which  had,  under 
the  influence  of  the  Old  Plall,  been  considerably 
modified  of  late  years,  more  particularly  from 
rushes  strewn  for  guests  to  c^  wa.;ced  floor  with  a 


THE   DAGGER    AND   THE   CROSS  77 

skin  or  two  for  the  feet,  as  well  as  a  brocaded 
coverlet,  the  gift  of  Lady  Anne,  for  the  great 
four-post  bedstead.  The  sheets  were  of  home- 
spun linen,  and  smelled  of  lavender.  The  other 
fiu-niture  consisted  of  a  wide-spreading  armchair, 
a  vast  press  for  clothes  or  linen,  a  chest  with  old 
wrought-iron  hinges,  and  a  row  of  pegs  along 
the  wainscoted  wall.  The  long,  low  bay  win- 
dow, its  small  square  panes  sparkling  with  the 
evening  light  that  streamed  across  the  wild 
country,  was  hung  with  white  dimity  curtains. 
Everything  cold  as  ice  in  winter— but  a,  week 
of  spring  sunshine,  the  window  having  a  full 
south  aspect,  had  made  the  room  not  only  habit- 
able but  pleasant.  Ziletto  declared  the  chamber 
was  princely ;  and  so  it  was  in  those  days  for  a 
village  inn.  His  man  unpacked  his  ponderous 
trunks,  and  with  a  dainty  bit  of  tapestry  and 
silken  cushions  here  and  there,  and  a  couple  of 
mandolins  hung  upon  the  pegs,  and  a  gilt-headed 
walking-staff,  and  a  couple  of  swords  and  pistols, 
a  long  cross-hafted  dagger  in  a  leather  sheath, 
together  with  sundry  picturesque  boots  and  oddly 
shapen  shoes,  the  room  soon  took  the  style  and 
atmosphere  of  some  guest-chamber  at  Haddon, 
instead  of  the  humble  hostlery  of  Eyam. 

"Yes,  my  love,"  said  Sir  George,  over  supper, 
when  Mary  Talbot  spoke  of  the  music  she  had 
heard  while  passing  the  Crown  and  Anchor,  "it 
is  the  new  arrival.  He  came  the  day  you  went 
to  visit  my  sister  Deborah.  A  remarkable  per- 
son, another  Italian,  traveling  like  a  prince, 
though  be  is  only  an  artist,  one  who  models 


78  THE   DAGGER  AND  THE   CROSS 

figures,  a  sculptor,  but  more  than  that,  a  patron 
of  the  arts.  Brings  letters  from  Lady  Anne,  has 
been  received  by  the  king,  to  whom  he  has  given 
some  advice  touching  the  decorations  of  Hampton 
Court — at  ^.  least,  so  he  tells  us — and  he  insists 
upon  taking  up  his  quarters  at  the  Crown  and 
Anchor,  though  he  might,  'tis  said,  go  further 
afield  and  be  the  guest  of  the  right  knightly  Sir 
George  Manners  at  Haddon." 

"You  doubt  his  credentials  then?"  said  Mary, 
who  understood  every  tone  of  her  father's  voice, 
and  had  noted  his  parenthetical  remark  of  "so 
he  says." 

"I  do  not  know.  I  may  have  had  a  passing 
doubt,  because  there  is  something  in  the  fellow's 
aspect  that  does  not  please  me." 

"Is  he  like  the  other  Italians  at  the  Old 
Hall?" 

"He  is  not  like  anything  that  I  have  ever  seen 
out  of  a  pageant  in  France ;  though  'tis  said  the 
court  of  our  great  and  good  monarch,  in  these 
early  days  of  the  Restoration,  is  extravagant  in 
plumes  and  feathers,  and  jeweled  brocades,  and 
I  know  not  what." 

"All  of  which  I  thought  you  approved,  dear 
father.  You  wear  your  own  doublet  and  hose 
with  an  air — and  you  become  them." 

"I  am  said  to  be  a  proud  man,  Mary;  and  so 
I  am,  in  my  love  of  thee,  my  rose  of  May." 

"You  spoil  me,"  said  Mary. 

"I  had  like  to  have  come  and  fetched  thee 
home,"  said  Sir  George.  "I  will  never  have 
thee  leave  me  for  a  whole  week  together  again," 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  79 

*'I  should  have  enjoyed  seeing  the  stranger 
arrive  in  his  carriage  and  with  his  postiUons,  as 
my  own  Margaret  tells  of,  and  with  outriders; 
and  such  a  valet — more  like  an  ape  than  a  man, 
she  says — which  sets  off  his  master,  who  is  the 
most  beautiful  image  ever  seen  out  of  a  picture. 
And  she  has  seen  the  chamber  at  the  Crown  and 
Anchor  where  he  is  lodged;  likewise  Radford's 
great  press  full  of  rich  costumes,  vests  and 
cloaks,  and  hats  and  silks,  and  on  the  walls 
swords  with  jeweled  hilts  and  pistols  with  orna- 
ments of  gold  and  precious  stones." 

"Something  like  the  trappings  of  a  mounte- 
bank, Mary,  and  'tis  that  I  half  suspect  about 
him.  ISTor  is  he  well  received  by  the  Old  Hall,  I 
hear ;  but  we  shall  see.  Lady  Anne  Bradshaw 
is  making  history  for  us;  she  may  rival  Chats- 
worth  with  her  paint  and  stone  and  marble  balus- 
trades, but  Haddon  will  stand  forever  the  gem 
of  the  Peak — that  is  my  prophecy,  Mary." 

"As  for  me,  give  me  our  dear  Manor  House, 
father ;  neither  Chatsworth  nor  Haddon,  nor  the 
Old  Hall,  has  sweeter  herbs  or  lovelier  flowers, 
nor  cozier  rooms,  nor  more  happy  memories!" 

"My  darling  child,"  said  Sir  George,  embrac- 
ing her,  "you  say  well  and  eloquently.  But  you 
are  crying;  why,  what  is  the  matter?" 

"Tears  of  joy,  I  think,  dear  father,  to  be  back 
again  with  you ;  I  missed  you  so  much. ' ' 

"But  'tis  unlike  you  to  weep,  Mary.  You 
are  not  well." 

"Oh,  yes,  dear  love,  I  am  quite  well." 

And  yet,  seeking  her  chamber .  for  the  night. 


80       THE  DACGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

she  wondered  why  she  wept.  It  was  the  strange 
music  that  had  made  her  weep;  it  had  a  painful 
and  pathetic  message  for  her. 


CHAPTER   ELEVEN 

THE     MYSTERY     OF     LOVING 

If  one  had  not  known  that  she  had  met  Ziletto, 
and  he  had  made  no  unpression  upon  her  except 
one  of  curiosity,  Mary  Talbot's  emphatic  answer 
to  Mrs.  Clegg's  appeal,  as  related  in  the  follow- 
ing chapter,  might  have  been  regarded  as  partly 
the  outcome  of  the  Ziletto  influence.  But  he  had 
passed  her  in  the  village  street,  and  remarkable 
a  figure  as  he  was,  he  had  for  the  moment 
aroused  in  her  no  more  than  an  ordinary  interest. 
He  was  the  new  Italian,  that  was  all,  except 
that  she  noted  that  he  was  much  more  pictur- 
esque in  his  dress  than  the  others,  and  that  he 
carried  himself  with  an  air  of  authority,  as  if  he 
conferred  a  favor  upon  the  community  by  his 
presence.  His  music  had  gone  straight  to  her 
heart,  and  had  created  a  strange  commotion 
there  on  the  previous  night,  but  he  had  not  smit- 
ten her  at  sight,  as  he  had  smitten  the  dove  of 
Venice,  Francesca  Roubillac. 

It  was  otherwise,  however,  with  Ziletto.  Mary 
Talbot  crossed  his  path,  a  vision  of  such  beauty 
as  he  had  never  3'et  encountered;  so,  at  all 
events,  she  seemed.  Love  and  passion  make 
their  own  beauty;   but  as  we  have  seen,  there 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS       81 

was  a  fresh  and  peculiar  charm  about  Sir 
George's  daughter.  The  belle  and  the  pride  of 
Eyam  might  not  be  overlooked,  even  by  the 
most  common  of  mortals.  She  carried  with  her 
a  cheerful  atmosphere.  People  felt  the  better 
for  coming  within  its  circle ;  it  radiated  happi- 
ness. 

Now,  Francesca  we  know  was  lovely  too,  and 
her  beauty  had  given  Fame  to  the  altar-piece  of 
San  Stefano,  but  it  was  the  beauty  of  sighs.  It 
was  pathetic ;  a  beauty  to  wonder  at  and  gaze 
upon ;  a  something  too  fine  for  common  uses ;  a 
figure  for  an  Oriental  throne,  to  be  decorated 
with  gems ;  and  yet  Roubillac  had  caught  all 
that  was  spirituelle  in  it,  and,  giving  the  raven 
hair  a  hue  of  bronzed  gold,  had  got  such  con- 
trast of  radiant  flesh  as  painter  hitherto  had 
rarely  won  for  a  sacred  canvas. 

Ziletto,  with  this  vision  of  the  village  beauty 
in  his  mind,  this  first  glimpse  of  Mary  Talbot, 
had  a  sudden  consciousness  of  these  comparisons, 
and  he  turned  to  gaze  after  the  English  girl  as 
she  swung  along  the  village  street,  not  only  a 
picture  of  health  but  a  pattern  of  feminine 
strength  and  grace.  She  carried  herself  with 
the  freedom  of  an  Egyptian  water-carrier. 

"Ah,  she  turns!"  he  said. 

He  stood  near  by  the  church,  watching  her  as 
she  made  her  way  toward  the  Delf,  upon  the 
edge  of  which  stood  Reuben  Clegg's  cottage. 

"The  insolent!"  she  said  to  herself.  "He  is 
standing  on  the  very  spot  where  I  j^assed  him, 
deliberately  following  me  with  his  wicked  eyes." 


82       THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

And  Ziletto  smiled.  She  had  turned  to  see  if 
lie  had  noted  her  unusuall)'.  That  was  how  he 
interpreted  her  action.  She  had  been  prompted 
to  look  back  down  the  street,  she  knew  not  why ; 
but  it  annoyed  her  to  find  him  watching  her. 

She  left  the  main  road  and  passed  into  a 
stretch  of  grass  with  a  footpath  that,  winding 
through  a  clump  of  pines,  came  to  an  end  at 
Clegg's  garden.  Entering  the  rough  gateway^ 
she  found  Mrs.  Clegg  knitting  by  the  door  of 
the  cottage,  for  though  it  was  early  in  April  the 
day  was  warm  and  sunny.  Spring  was  already 
busy  with  the  fruit  trees  and  the  gillyflowers. 
The  season  was  unusually  early,  and  Mrs.  Clegg 
had  plenty  of  time  to  knit  and  read  her  Bible, 
because  she  rose  betimes,  and  she  and  her  one 
stalwart  servant  made  short  work  of  the  tidying 
and  sweeping  and  washing  that  the  cottage 
needed.  This,  and  other  domestic  details,  she 
confided  to  Miss  Talbot  as  she  welcomed  her 
and  gave  her  the  great  armchair  in  which 
Reuben  was  wont  to  sit  at  nights  and  talk  over 
the  affairs  of  the  day. 

"It  is  so  long  since  I  have  seen  you,  Mrs. 
Clegg,  that  I  felt  I  must  walk  round  to  you  this 
morning. ' ' 

"That's  right;  'tis  well  said,  indeed,"  the  old 
woman  replied.  "And  will  you  taste  my  goose- 
berry wine?  No?  Then  the  elder;  nay,  'tis 
good  in  a  morning.  Then  let  me  fasten  thig 
nosegay  in  thy  bodice." 

She  plucked  from  a  great  bunch  of  gillyflow- 
ers by  the  door  a  few  choice  sprigs  and  pinned 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS       83 

them  in  the  bodice  of  Mary's  gown,  a  rich  bit  of 
color  that  emphasized  the  whiteness  of  the  girl's 
round  throat.  Mary  thanked  her,  with  a  gra- 
cious glance  from  her  deep  blue  eyes. 

*'Nay,  thou  art  a  bonnie  wench — pardon  an 
old  woman's  admiration — a  true  blossom  of  the 
Peak,  and  as  fresh  as  a  pink,  and  as  unfading  as 
the  everlastings  that  Reuben  has  given  me  for 
a  book-mark." 

*'You  are  quite  gay  this  morning,"  said  Mary; 
"I  have  rarely  seen  you  in  such  good  spirits." 

"Thanks  to  you,  my  dear.  You  come  so  un- 
expected, like  the  first  sunshine  of  the  spring. 
And  what  a  lovely  time  it  is,  so  full  of  hope. 
There  will  be  plenty  of  flowers  for  the  Well- 
dressing;  never  such  a  promise  of  May  that  I 
remember." 

Then  Mary  smoothed  her  gown,  and  rested 
her  feet  upon  the  stool  which  Mrs.  Clegg  placed 
for  her,  and  they  began  to  talk  of  other  things; 
of  Mary's  visit  to  her  aunt,  of  the  Italians  at 
the  Old  Hall,  the  meeting  of  the  Catholic  priest 
and  the  Rev.  William  Mompesson  quite  on  civil 
terms,  and  the  news  that  Lady  Anne  contem- 
plated a  visit  to  the  Old  Hall  earlier  than  had 
been  expected,  so  deeply  interested  was  she  in 
the  progress  of  the  work  there ;  and  presently 
Mrs.  Clegg  told  her  how  her  son  had  made  a 
new  discovery  of  ore,  and  had  opened  up  a  new 
lead,  and  how  the  Duke  of  Devonshire  had  sent 
a  message  to  him  concerning  some  lands  by  Hard- 
wicke  which  he  desired  him  to  prospect ;  and 
once  fairly  engaged  with  Reuben's  fortunes,  she 


8;       THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

deemed  the  time  opportune  for  the  exploitatiori 
of  interests  far  deeper  to  him  than  all  the  ore  in 
Derb^'shire  and  all  the  dukes  that  might  own  it. 

"Nay,  I  am  right  glad  thou  hast  called,"  said 
Mrs.  Clegg.  "I  have  had  something  I  wanted 
to  say  to  thee  these  many  months." 

"Indeed!"  Miss  Talbot  rephed.  "I  have  only 
been  away  from  Eyam  a  little  more  than  a  week 
since  Christmas,  and  am  but  yesterday  come 
home  from  Aunt  Deborah's  at  East  Moor." 

"That  is  quite  true,  my  dear,  quite  true;  but 
it  is  only  at  this  moment  that  I've  made  up  my 
mind  to  tell  thee  what  has  often  been  trembling 
on  my  lips.  Nay,  don't  look  anxious.  Miss 
Talbot." 

"You  alarm  me  somewhat,"  said  Mary. 

"Nay,  sit  down.  It  is  about  my  dear  lad, 
Reuben,"  Mrs.  Clegg  replied,  placing  a  seat  for 
her  visitor,  where  Mary  could  see  Middleton 
Dale  winding  away  to  the  plain  where  Reuben 
and  his  mother  had  watched  the  train  of  pack- 
horses  and  the  coming  of  the  Italians  who  were 
to  exercise  such  tragical  influence  upon  the 
peaceful  village. 

]\Iiss  Talbot  looked  the  picture  of  rosy  health ; 
her  lips  and  her  complexion  that  indefinable  blend 
of  pink  and  white  that  is  characteristic  of  En- 
glish rural  beauty.  She  looked  as  if  life  was  a 
perpetual  and  unruffled  delight  to  her;  a  contrast 
to  Mrs.  Clegg,  whose  mild  eyes  and  patient  ex- 
pression of  suffering  faith  were  the  natural  out- 
come of  her  Puritanism.  She  was  a  slightly^ 
made  woman,   singularly  neat  in    her    attire. 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  85 

QuaKer-like  in  her  cap  and  gray  gown  with  its 
plain  white  apron.  On  the  other  hand,  there  was 
a  certain  roj'ahst  profligacy  of  dress  and  manner 
in  her  visitor;  not  that  Mary  was  extravagantly 
attired,  but  she  was  one  of  those  handsome 
young  women  upon  whom  an  extra  ribbon  or  an 
additional  display  of  head-dress  told  with  almost 
aggressive  effect. 

' '  Nay,  thou  art  a  bonny  lass, ' '  repeated  Mrs. 
Clegg;  "and  I  don't  wonder  that  Reuben  is 
breaking  his  heart  about  thee." 

"Mrs.  Clegg!"  said  Mary,  a  quick  blush 
mantling  her  features. 

"Ay,  thou  dost  well  to  blush;  it  becomes  thee, 
and  it  is  honorable  to  thy  heart.  If  there  had 
been  any  rival  to  stand  in  the  way,  or  if  thou 
hadst  not  been  kind  to  him,  and  thy  father 
friendly  disposed,  I  do  verily  believe  he  would 
have  suffered  without  so  much  as  breathing  a 
word,  even  unto  me." 

"I  don't  understand  you,"  said  Mary. 

"Don't  you,  my  dear?  Then  I  will  explain 
myself.  My  son  has  a  heart  of  gold,  and  it  is 
set  on  thee." 

Mary  listened,  but  looked  far  away  in  the 
distance. 

"His  one  great  delight  for  years — ay,  for 
years — has  been  to  live  in  the  same  village  with 
thee,  to  breathe  the  same  air,  to  talk  with  thee, 
to  sit  now  and  then  at  thy  father's  table,  and  to 
come  home  to  me  and  tell  me  all  thou  hast  said- 
to  worship  thee  as  if  thou  hadst  been  a  saint  and 
he  one  of  those  godless  heathens  who  knoel  and 


86  THE   DAGGER  ANT)   THE   CROSS 

pray  to  images.  Ay,  and  I  have  often  warned 
him  that  God  would  punish  him,  if  God  were 
not  over-merciful  on  account  of  his  other  virtues ; 
for  God  is  a  jealous  God,  and  it  is  a  sin  to  love 
overmuch  the  things  of  this  life." 

Here  Mrs.  Clegg  paused,  and  looked  into  the 
girl's  face  with  a  questioning  glance. 

"Yes,  I  am  listening,"  said  Mary,  returning 
the  old  woman's  gaze  for  the  first  time;  "I  am 
listening." 

"Reuben  loves  thee,  my  dear  Miss  Talbot,  and 
would  make  thee  his  wife." 

Mrs.  Clegg  rose  as  she  made  this  declaration, 
as  if  she  would  embrace  her  daughter  that  might 
be ;  but  Mary  Talbot  made  no  response,  and  so 
the  old  lady  sat  down  again,  her  soft,  patient 
eyes,  now  unusually  bright,  fixed  upon  the  ob- 
ject of  her  son's  affections. 

"Why  has  not  Mr.  Clegg  told  me  of  this?" 
"He  was  afraid." 
"Afraid?" 

"That  he  might  lose  the  privilege  of  seeing 
and  speaking  to  thee  afterward." 

"If  I  had  said,  'Mr.  Clegg,  I  have  never 
thought  of  you  as  a  lover,  and  you  are  old  com- 
pared with  me,'  could  we  then  have  been  no 
longer  neighbors  and  friends?" 

"I  cannot  tell.  But  so  long  as  thou  hast  not 
said  this,  so  long  as  he  has  kept  his  secret,  then 
he  may  live  and  hope.  He  is  not  a  poor  man, 
Miss  Talbot,  and  one  day  he  may  be  as  rich  as 
thy  honored  father,  if  not  still  richer;  and  his 
father  was  a  yeoman,  his  grandfather  a  squire. 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS       87 

here  in  the  dale ;  and  we  have  never,  in  either  of 
our  families,  had  to  blush  for  an  ill-deed  or  an 
unneighborly  act.  My  brother  died  for  the  king, 
and  my  father  was  a  soldier,  too." 

"I  do  not  disparge  your  son  nor  his  family, 
nor  yours,  dear  madam;  and  my  father  calls 
Mr.  Clegg  friend  and  partner,  as  you  know." 

"And  so  he  is  Sir  George's  partner;  but  with 
a  right  humble  regard  for  Sir  George's  position, 
except  that  he  dares  to  love  his  daughter.  Nay, 
dear  young  lady,  who  could  help  loving  thee, 
that  had  a  heart  in  his  bosom  and  eyes  in  his 
head?  Ay,  and  don't  tell  me,  dear  Miss  Talbot, 
thou  hast  not  seen  his  worship  of  thee  in  his  face, 
his  manner,  his  voice,  his  humility ;  for  to  every 
other  he  is  proud  and  willful,  to  thee  meek  and 
gentle ;  thou  mightst  tread  upon  him.  Oh,  my 
dear  child,  be  kind  to  him.  He  is  a  good  and 
true  man,  and  never  did  an  unworthy  action  in 
all  his  days." 

Overcome  with  her  unusual  emotions,  Mrs. 
Clegg  drew  her  apron  over  her  head  and  wept 
bitterl}'. 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Clegg — my  dear  neighbor," 
said  Mary,  bending  over  her,  "do  not  weep; 
none  of  us  are  worthy  of  such  bitter  tears.  I 
have  never  known  what  it  is  to  have  a  mother. ' ' 

"Nay,  God  help  thee,  child,"  said  Mrs.  Clegg, 
taking  her  into  her  arms.  "I  wish  I  might  be 
thy  mother." 

"Next  to  my  own,  I  would  not  desire  a  more 
sweet  and  gentle  lady,"  said  Mary;  "but  oh, 
dear  soul,  it  may  not  be,  it  may  not  be." 


88  THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS 

"May  not  be?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Clej?g,  drying 
her  eyes  and  freeing  herself  from  Mary's  em- 
brace, the  fervency  of  which  had  led  her,  for 
the  moment,  to  believe  that  Reuben's  cause  was 
won.  "Thou  hast  a  lover  that  we  know  not 
of?" 

"I  esteem  and  respect  you,  Mrs.  Clegg,  but  I 
deny  your  right  to  question  me  upon  such  a 
subject." 

"You  will  deny  my  son,  if  he  is  bold  enough 
to  ask  for  your  love?" 

"I  do  not  understand  such  a  love  as  that  you 
speak  of.  Such  love,  they  say,  comes  without 
our  will,  even  without  our  knowledge,  and  can- 
not be  mistaken;  it  has  not  come  to  me." 

"And  yet,  one  time  and  another,  thou  hast 
seen  some  of  the  noblest  of  our  Northern  youth." 

"Have  I?  One  does  not  see  much  in  that 
way,  Mrs.  Clegg,  living  all  one's  days  at  Ej^am. 
But  I  am  content;  I  love  my  father,  everybody 
is  kind  to  me,  all  the  \allage  loves  me,  there  can 
be  no  well-dressing  without  me,  no  wakes,  no 
Christmas  revels;  and  believe  me,  it  is  one  of 
my  pleasures  to  listen  to  Mr.  Clegg  talking  of 
wonderful  things  with  my  father,  and  even  to 
hear  him  wrangle  with  Mr.  Mompesson  and  Mr. 
Stanley,  the  rector  that  is  and  the  rector  that 
was;  but,  my  dear  friend — I  could  almost  call 
you  mother — I  do  not  love  your  son,  and  if  he 
asks  me  if  I  do  that  must  be  my  answer." 

"O  merciful  Father!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Clegg 
with  head  bowed.  "Help  my  son  to  be  silent, 
to  suffer  and  be  strong,  to  find  his  recompens«» 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  89 

in    gracious    deeds    and   a   loving    worship    of 
Thee." 

"Amen!"  said  Mary,  with  a  sigh,  more  of 
relief  than  reverence;  glad  to  have  had  tbi; 
scene  with  Mrs.  Clegg  instead  of  the  one  whicl' 
had  long  been  threatened  with  her  son;  for  Mary 
liked  Reuben,  and  his  undeclared  love  for  her 
was  not  displeasing.  He  was  the  wisest  man  in 
the  village,  more  feared  than  loved,  and  Eyam 
generally  being  captive  to  her  whims,  whatever 
they  might  be,  it  would  have  been  uncomfortable 
to  have  had  Reuben  Clegg  beyond  her  sphere  of 
influence. 

"Thou  wilt  not  tell  him  what  I  have  said  to 
thee?"  said  the  old  woman,  with  a  tender  note 
of  appeal  and  disappointment  in  her  voice. 

"If  you  do  not  wish  it." 

"It  will  make  no  difference  to  thy  treatment 
of  him?" 

"I  will  endeavor  to  forget  it." 

"Nay,  don't  forget  it.  Let  it  be  our  secret; 
let  it  be  a  token  between  us — a  tie  of  more  th^n 
neighborship,  a  something  that  may  one  day 
bear  fruit.  I  cannot  bear  to  carry  such  a  burden 
all  alone ;  and  who  knows,  one  day  thou  mayst 
come  to  me  and  say,  'Mrs.  Clegg,  dear  friend, 
be  my  mother  in  good  sooth,'  and  the  joy  of  it 
would  be  a  link  back  to  this  day." 

"I  have  never  yet  had  a  secret  to  keep,  dear 
Mrs.  Clegg.     I  hope  it  will  not  out  one  day!" 

"If  'twould  out  in  the  right  way,  my  child, 
eh?  If  thou  only  knew  his  great  heart,  his 
trueness,  his — " 


90       THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

*'0h,  but  I  know  how  good  he  is,  Mrs.  Clegg; 
and  I  don't  regard  myself  worthy  of  so  much 
devotion." 

"Then  thou  dost  not  deem  thy  family  a  bar 
against  him?" 

"I  think  of  him  as  an  equal  in  that  respect." 

"Nay,  that  is  a  step  toward  love;  for  thy 
father  is  proud  of  his  descent  and  his  'scutcheon. " 

"And  I  am  proud,  too,  Mrs.  Clegg.  But  your 
son  is  of  the  mettle  that  makes  British  heroes. 
I  think  of  him  as  one  should  think  of  the  men 
one  reads  of  in  books,  who  begin  huriibly,  per- 
haps as  shepherds,  and  are  selected  for  rulers  of 
the  State.  Nay,  there,  I  can  say  no  more,  or 
you  will  have  me  justifying  my  father's  fre- 
quent protest,  that  I  am  too  romantic,  that  I 
look  upon  life  as  a  story-book.  And  last  night, 
as  I  was  going  home  from  the  rectory,  I  heard 
such  music  stealing  out  from  the  garden  of  the 
inn  that  I  could  almost  have  believed  the  Crown 
and  Anchor  was  enchanted  ground,  and  all  the 
village  under  a  spell,  for  it  seemed  they  were 
mostly  assembled  there ;  and  my  father  tells  me 
it  is  a  new-comer;  an  Italian  who  speaks  our 
tongue  as  well  as  his  own,  an  artist  interested  in 
the  work  at  the  Old  Hall,  but  whom  Sir  George 
suspects  to  be  a  spy  in  the  land ;  though  what 
can  he  want  to  spy  about  here?" 

"The  foreign  folk  at  the  Old  Hall,  belike,  are 
here  for  no  good.  'Tis  known  they  hold  strange 
worship  in  the  new  chapel  that  Lady  Anne  has 
built;  and  the  one  they  call  Roubillac— he  of  the 
sallow  face  and  furtive  look,  the  husband  of  the 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS       ^l 

^psy  woman  with  the  jeweled  robes — 'tis  said 
he  is  painting  an  unseemly  picture,  which  they 
will  worship  when  'tis  finished.  And  I  fear 
me,  no  good  can  come  of  all  this,  and  'twere  bet- 
ter the  Old  Hall  had  been  pulled  down  than 
harbor  such  things. ' ' 

"But,  dear  Mrs.  Clegg,  the  coming  of  the 
strangers  has  been  good  for  Eyam  and  all  the 
country  side;  employing  our  labor,  distributing 
good  money  among  the  poor,  and,  moreover, 
even  Mr.  Mompesson  is  willing  to  admit  that 
they  bring  to  us  a  beautiful  art.  Besides,  Eyam 
is  to  rival  Chatsworth,  at  least  the  Old  Hall  is ; 
and  it  is  not  because  a  thing  is  beautiful  that  it 
is  unholy." 

"Nay,  God  forbid!"  said  Mrs.  Clegg,  taking 
the  girl's  glowing  face  in  her  bony  hands  and 
kissing  her  forehead.  "God  forbid;  for  thou 
art  beautiful!" 


CHAPTER  TWELVE 

"the  world  is  a  masked  ball" 

When  Ziletto,  the  Italian,  set  foot  in  Eyam, 
the  village  may  be  said  to  have  been  almost  an 
earthly  paradise.  The  feeling  that  had  been 
aroused  by  the  expulsion  of  the  Rev.  George 
Stanley  from  the  rectorship  and  the  appointment 
of  the  Rev.  William  Mompesson  had  cooled 
down.  Mr.  Mompesson  was  beginning  to  make 
his  way  with  his  new  flock,     Mr.  Stanley  re- 


y„>       THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

mained  among  his  friends;  he  said  he  was  too 
old  to  seek  uevv  ones,  too  old  to  go  forth  into  the 
world.  Moreover,  he  loved  Eyam,  and  carried 
the  cross  of  his  political  martyrdom  with  a  dig- 
nified contentment. 

The  active  feuds  of  Roundhead  and  Royalist, 
which  had  made  considerable  stir  in  the  High 
Peak  Hundred,  had  not  excited  Eyam  very 
much.  Everybody  was  the  happier  that  things 
were  settled.  Presbyterians  knew  the  worst, 
iind  Conformists  were  not  inclined  to  vaunt 
themselves  on  their  victory.  The  previous  au- 
tumn season  had  been  bountiful,  so  far  as  the 
few  crops  of  the  district  were  concerned,  and  the 
winter  store  of  cured  beef  and  bacon  unusually 
abundant. 

Upon  this  prosperity  had  come  additional 
employment  of  labor  at  the  Old  Hall,  the  advent 
of  the  Italians,  an  increased  output  of  lead  at  the 
Winship  Mine,  and  an  unusually  mild  and  early 
spring.  Mary  Talbot  was  as  happy  as  she  was 
beautiful.  Reuben  Clegg  had  not  yet  steeped 
his  mind  in  the  pessimism  of  unbelief  and  be- 
come more  or  less  of  a  recluse,  still  nursing,  how- 
ever, his  secret  love  for  Mary.  Bernardo  Rou- 
billac  had  found  the  Old  Hall  a  blissful  retreat 
in  which  he  could  exercise  his  art  and  cultivate 
the  domestic  virtues  safe  from  the  intrusion  of 
the  only  man  in  all  the  world  who  seemed  to 
have  power  to  shadow  his  life.  Francesca  had 
entirely  recovered  from  the  morbid  attitude  she 
had  assumed  toward  the  man  Ziletto,  and  with 
the  spring  sunshine,  the  pure,  bracing  air,  the 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  93 

cheerful  river  that  wound  through  the  woods 
and  moorlands  below  her  window,  the  new  in- 
terests that  surrounded  her,  she  was  full  of 
healthful  spirit,  and  looked  forward  to  a  better 
acquaintance  with  the  villagers  and  to  the  forth- 
coming Ascension  festival.  All  the  little  world 
of  the  mountain  village  was  sunny,  in  fact  and 
in  fancj',  when  Ziletto  came. 

Every  paradise  must  have  its  serpent,  every 
sunny  beam  its  shadow.  Heaven  itself  is  not 
free  from  the  intrigues  of  Satan,  and  the  splendor 
of  the  revolting  angel  has  inspired  one  of  the 
noblest  poems  in  the  language. 

Ziletto  was  the  serpent  of  our  village  paradise, 
as  he  had  been  the  reptile  of  Roubillac's  Eden 
at  Venice.  It  seemed  as  if  it  might  be  specially 
said  of  him  that  while  he  was  made  in  God's 
own  image,  he  had  the  soul  of  a  fiend.  He 
might  have  sat  for  an  Apollo.  His  figure  was  a 
superb  example  of  masculine  perfection.  This 
was  better  seen  in  the  costume  he  affected  in 
Italy,  though  it  was  not  altogether  disguised 
in  his  semi-English  dress,  which  he  carried  with 
the  grace  of  Charles,  the  king,  himself.  His 
eyes  were  dark  as  night,  and  sometimes  as  re- 
poseful, while  at  others  they  were  keenly  alert 
in  their  watchfulness.  His  manner  toward 
women  was  soft  and  deferential,  as  it  was,  on 
occasions,  scoffing  and  defiant  toward  men.  At 
the  same  time  there  was  something  in  his  smile, 
something  in  his  assumption  of  frankness  and 
bonhomie,  that  invited  confidence  and  seemed 
worthy  of  it.     He  knew  how  to  assume  a  virtue 


94  THK    DACiOER   AND   THE    CROSS 

if  he  did  not  possess  it,  and  he  wore  the  mask  oj 
honesty  with  the  ease  of  a  practiced  actor,  only 
hiying  it  aside  when  he  sat  in  council  with  Pedro, 
his  valet,  or  in  open  defiance  of  a  foe  or  when 
meeting  an  opponent  on  the  field  of  honor. 

No  one  could  be  charged  with  blindness  who 
failed  to  discern  the  face  behind  the  mask,  the 
wolf  beneath  the  sheep's  clothing  in  Ziletto's 
case.  It  was  hard  even  for  Father  Castelli  to 
believe  that  so  eminently  fair  an  example  of 
manly  grace  could  be  hnked  to  a  nature  so  vile ; 
but  Father  Castelli  was  a  man  of  charity,  and 
he  only  beheved  one-half  the  evil  things  that 
were  laid  to  the  account  of  Ziletto.  Some  of 
them,  he  thought,  might  probably  be  due  to  the 
human  weakness  of  envy ;  for  Ziletto  had  many 
accomplishments  besides  the  attraction  of  his 
appearance  and  his  charm  of  manner  to  excite 
both  envy  and  jealousy.  • 

Mary  Talbot  did  not  gauge  the  stranger  on 
any  of  these  hues.  She  did  not  think  of  him  as 
evil  or  good ;  indeed,  she  thought  of  no  one  as 
evil ;  she  took  the  good  in  people  for  granted, 
and  her  experience  of  the  little  world  of  the  High 
Peak  Hundred  was  in  favor  of  the  angelic  side 
of  humanity.  The  indifference  she  affected  to 
feel  on  first  seeing  Ziletto  was  an  instinctive 
resistance.  That  she  had  turned  to  look  at  him 
had  not  escaped  Ziletto.  He  was  too  well  ac- 
quainted with  women  not  to  understand  the 
glance  of  curiosity  and  interest  that  had  passed 
between  them  as  he  moved  aside  to  let  her  go 
by,  near  the  wall  that  shut  in  the  garden  of  the 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS       95 

Manor  House  and  joined  the  green  hedge  of 
thorn  and  privet  beyond.  His  natural  egotism 
was  not  necessary  to  interpret  the  surprise  his 
appearance  must  have  excited  in  her  mind,  not- 
withstanding the  presence  in  the  village  of  his 
compatriots.  His  unaffected  glance  of  admira- 
tion remained  with  her.  She  could  not  shake  it 
off.  His  face  had  come  into  her  mind  even 
while  Mrs.  Clegg  was  pleading  the  cause  of  her 
son.  The  thought  of  it  annoyed  her;  but  this 
was  on  account  of  her  pride,  which  she  had  her- 
self wounded  by  her  own  curiosity.  It  troubled 
her  to  think  how  the  stranger  might  regard  her, 
knowing  that  she  had  assuredly  turned  to  see  if 
he  had  gone  on  his  way,  only  to  find  him  still 
gazing  after  her.  He  might  look  upon  it  as  a 
challenge  to  further  acquaintance.  So,  for  her 
own  thoughtlessness  or  mdiscretion,  she  was 
angry  with  him,  whoever  he  might  be;  and 
surely  he  was  a  person  of  distinction — a  for- 
eigner certainly,  an  Italian  no  doubt,  but  how 
utterly  unlike  the  others! 

That  night  she  inquired  of  her  woman,  Dobbs, 
who  and  what  the  man  might  be;  and  Dobbs 
was  primed  with  all  kinds  of  news  for  her,  for 
Mr.  Vicars,  the  tailor,  was  her  cousin,  and  he 
was  quite  wild  in  his  admiration  of  the  stranger's 
costumes.  He  had  seen  them.  Mrs.  Radford 
had  opened  the  press  for  him,  and  shown  his 
best  suits  to  him;  and  the  stranger's  valet,  a 
very  dark-eyed,  scowling  kind  of  being,  who 
started  up  in  all  kinds  of  places  when  least  you 
expected  him,  had  permitted  Mr.  Vicars  to  take 


96  THE   DACiUER   AND   THE   CROSS 

the  pattern  of  a  doublet  and  hose  that  was  ft 
wonder  of  style  and  embroidery.  Nor  was  all 
the  work  Italian.  Most  of  the  costumes  had 
been  cut  in  London  by  the  king's  own  tailor, 
though  others  were  Venetian ;  and  Dobbs  was 
of  opinion  that  if  any  man  who  was  not  English, 
and  more  especially  Derbyshire,  could  be  formed 
to  catch  the  eye  of  an  honest  woman,  this  stranger 
with  the  Z  in  his  name  was  that  man ;  a  fine 
figure,  eyes  that  went  all-over-you-like  in  a 
pleasant  way,  and  a  manner — well,  it  might  be 
too  much  of  the  dancing-master  who  had  given 
Miss  Talbot  lessons,  coming  all  the  wa}^  from 
Hallamshire  once  a  month.  For  that,  however, 
he  might  be  forgiven,  being  a  foreigner;  and  as 
for  his  singing,  it  was  like  nothing  on  earth  or 
heaven  that  she  had  ever  heard — not  that  she 
could  speak  of  heaven,  of  course,  but  it  had  a 
wa}^  of  making  you  "feel  as  if  you  was  dream- 
ing." Twice,  while  Miss  Talbot  was  at  her 
aunt's,  she  had  sat  in  Mrs.  Radford's  brewhouse 
and  heard  him;  and  what  was  extraordinary 
was  that  he  had  condescended  to  play  his  fiddle, 
or  whatever  it  might  be,  and  sing  to  it,  for  the 
edification  of  the  company;  and  some  said  he 
was  a  prince  in  disguise  on  his  travels — what 
Vicars  calls  a  troubadour.  It  was  just  wonder- 
ful ;  and  that  was  the  only  word  she  could  find 
for  it. 

Mary  had  sat  and  listened  to  this  remarkable 
gossip  while  Dobbs  was  brushing  her  hair  and 
binding  it  up  for  the  night.  Whenever  Dobbs 
paused,  as  if  her  story  were  at  an  end,  Mary 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS       97 

plied  her  with  some  new  question ;  and  in  her 
dreams  she  heard  the  music  that  had  bewitched 
the  village  and  was  conscious  of  the  glance  that 
seemed  to  have  bewitched  her.  Not  that  she 
was  a  stranger  to  the  admiration  of  the  opposite 
sex;  she  was  quite  conscious  of  the  furtive  and 
timid  glances  of  the  few  young  men  of  Eyam 
who  had  the  courage  to  look  her  in  the  face. 
She  knew  that  at  church  they  were  often  con- 
templating her  over  their  books,  and  when,  dur- 
ing one  or  two  visits  of  Lady  Stafford,  the  com- 
pany at  church  had  included  men  not  accustomed 
to  disguise  their  admiration  of  a  pretty  woman, 
and  they  had  cast  significant  looks  at  her,  she 
had  been  quite  equal  to  the  occasion,  proud, 
defiant,  and  conscious  of  the  protection  of  a 
proud  old  father,  who  would  just  as  soon  have 
flung  out  upon  them  with  his  rapier  as  look  at 
them  if  any  question  of  disrespect  to  his  daugh- 
ter had  arisen.  She  was  heart-whole,  knew 
that  she  was  pretty,  but  knew  it  with  an  uncon- 
scious sense  of  the  dignity  of  her  innocence.  It 
was  as  if  slie  looked  upon  herself  as  representa- 
tive of  the  credit  and  reputation  of  the  Talbots, 
the  daughter  of  a  mother  who  was  beautiful — as 
any  one  could  see  by  the  fine  portrait  that  hung 
in  the  Manor  House  dining-room — and  the  Lady 
Bountiful  of  the  village;  and  yet  she  had  blushed 
hot  when,  turning  in  the  road,  she  knew  that 
this  stranger  had  been  watching  her. 

On  the  next  day,  when  she  was  walking  along 
the  street  in  company  with  tlie  rector's  wife,  ;iiid 
the  stranger  had  doffed  his  hat  to  Mrs.  Mora- 


98       THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

pesson,  and  in  a  deferential  manner  had  included 
her  in  his  salutation,  she  felt  her  heart  boat,  and 
she  knew  that  she  had  become  hot  and  cold  all 
in  a  minute,  and  feared  that  Mrs.  Mompesson 
must  have  noted  her  confusion.  In  this,  how- 
ever, she  was  mistaken.  Mrs.  Mompesson  was 
a  woman  of  a  delicate  and  sensitive  nature,  and 
she  had  simply  remarked  that  Eyam  was  becom- 
ing quite  a  foreign  village,  and  that  this  Signor 
Ziletto  was  certainly  the  most  interesting  of  all 
their  artistic  visitors.  Mr.  Mompesson  had  said 
the  same,  and  expressed  the  belief  that  Miss 
Talbot  would  find  the  newcomer  interesting. 
The  rector  having  called  upon  him,  being  a 
stranger,  the  signor  had  responded  forthwith, 
and  they  had  found  him  quite  a  desirable  ac- 
quaintance. It  was  a  tribute  to  his  kindly  nat- 
ure that  the  children  had  taken  to  him  wonder- 
fully; a  sure  sign,  the  rector  said,  of  a  good 
heart. 

The  next  day  was  Sunday,  and  when  the 
Crown  and  Anchor's  distinguished  guest,  the 
observed  of  all  observers,  entered  the  church, 
Sir  George  Talbot,  with  the  customary  courtesy 
of  the  chief  man  in  the  parish  and  Mr.  Mompes- 
son's  most  influential  parishioner,  stepped  from 
his  pew  and  politely  motioned  the  signor  to  a 
seat  therein. 

It  was  a  new  feather  in  Ziletto's  cap  that  he 
understood  the  prayer  book,  making  it  quite 
clear  to  all  that  the  foreigner  was  a  Protestant. 
His  compatriots  had,  on  a  special  occasion,  at- 
tended a  service  at    Christmas-time,  but   they 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE    CROSS  99 

were  quite  strangers  to  the  ceremonial  and  form 
of  worship,  and  had  rather  scandahzed  some  of 
the  congregation  by  crossing  themselves  on  enter- 
ing and  leaving  the  church.  If  the  villagers 
had  not  already  been  torn  by  factious  contro- 
versy, and  put  a  little  out  of  conceit  with  relig- 
ion, as  Radford  and  Vicars  had  admitted,  it  is 
possible  that  the  presence  of  members  of  the 
Romish  Church  might  have  been  resented ;  even 
though  it  was  understood  that  they  were  but 
sojourners  in  the  village  for  the  purposes  of  their 
calling,  and  had  the  right  to  indulge  their  own 
habits  and  customs,  being  there,  as  the  constable 
had  said,  not  of  their  own  accord,  but  by  virtue 
of  invitation  and  trade,  and  attended  by  their 
own  clergyman,  who  did  not  attempt  to  prosely- 
tize, and  was,  for  a  priest  and  son  of  Baal,  not  a 
bad  sort  of  a  creature. 

Conscious  of  her  imusual  blush  and  that  un- 
usual flutter  of  the  heart  which  had  troubled  her 
for  the  first  time  in  her  young  life  on  seeing  the 
stranger,  Mary  Talbot  made  a  strong  demand 
upon  her  native  dignity,  and  comported  herself 
with  so  near  an  approach  to  her  natural  ease  of 
manner  that  she  betrayed  no  self-consciousness 
either  to  Ziletto  or  her  father.  And  when  she 
laid  her  arm  upon  her  father's  and  left  the 
church  after  the  benediction,  she  carried  herself 
with  unusual  prescience,  and  never  once  deigned 
to  look  toward  the  stranger,  who,  with  a  cour- 
tier-Hke  sweep  of  his  feathered  hat  in  the  porch, 
took  the  way  to  his  inn.  He  had  hesitated  for 
a  moment,  as  if  he  expected  Sir  George  to  speak 


100  THE    DA(KiER   AND   THE   CROSS 

to  him ;  and  probably  Sir  George  would  have 
(lone  so,  but  he  felt  a  significant  pressure  on  hit? 
arm  and  went  his  way  homeward,  Mary's  gown 
making  a  rustle  of  silk  and  giving  forth  a  sweet 
perfume  of  lavender  that,  to  her  many  furtive  and 
secret  worshipers,  was  like  an  odor  of  sanctity 
about  the  figure  of  a  saint.  And  yet  there  was 
not  a  man  or  woman  in  all  Ej^am  who  did  not 
bow  or  curtsey  to  her,  and  not  a  house  in  which, 
at  one  time  or  another,  she  had  not  been  a  visitor 
either  in  the  way  of  charity  or  neighborliness. 
If  she  had  posed  as  a  saint  she  would  have  been 
the  merriest  and  most  cheerful  of  all  the  saints 
that  had  ever  been  inscribed  in  the  calendar;  but 
so  bashful  is  the  love  that  admires  and  rever- 
ences, no  youth  or  squire  or  yeoman's  son,  or 
even  the  titled  nobility  that  came  into  Eyam  for 
the  village  festivals,  had  ever  dared  to  do  more 
than  favor  themselves  and  Mary  with  a  sly,  half- 
averted,  apologetic  glance,  "and  no  bones 
broken,"  as  the  constable  said,  wondering  why 
the  lads  were  all  afraid  of  her ;  and  not  alone  the 
lads,  as  he  remarked  to  Mrs.  Constable,  but 
that  great  hulking,  over-masterful,  censorious 
Reuben  Clegg,  with  his  sneering  ways  and  rabid 
tongue— even  he  dared  not  whisper  to  himself 
the  awkward  fact  that  he  was  head  and  heels 
and  boots  and  all  in  love  with  Sir  George's 
daughter. 


THE  DAGGER  AND   THE  CROSS  101 


CHAPTER  THIRTEEN 

THE    LOVE   THAT   LASTS 

Which  was  all  quite  true,  as  we  have  seen. 
Clegg  was  a  strong  man  in  all  other  things,  but 
Love  was  stronger  than  Clegg.     He  fought  it . 
with  every  weapon  he  knew. 

In  the  daytime,  among  his  miners,  he  labored 
like  the  rest,  hewing  the  ore  or  superintending 
its  tedious  transit  to  the  highway,  that  was  not 
a  highway  as  we  know  the  roads  of  to-day,  but 
a  mere  track  that  passed  over  moorland  and 
through  woods  in  lanes  of  wagon  ruts  perilous 
to  axles  and  destructive  of  all  human  patience. 
But  nothing  in  the  way  of  his  work  put  Clegg 
out,  and  he  was  used  to  battle  with  Nature. 

It  was  only  when  he  came  into  intellectual 
contact  with  certain  of  the  men  of  Eyam  that 
his  temper  got  beyond  control,  as  it  had  done, 
indeed,  in  httle  wayside  controversies  with  the 
two  clergymen  of  the  parish,  Messrs.  Mompesson 
and  Stanley;  but  it  was  all  through  his  love  for 
Mary  Talbot.  If  this  could  have  been  satisfied, 
there  would  have  been  no  more  meek  and  gentle 
inhabitant  of  the  whole  great  land  of  the  Peak 
than  Reuben  Clegg.  Without  the  smallest  pros- 
pect of  this,  he  nevertheless  dedicated  his  life  to 
Sir  George's  daughter.  It  was  for  her  sake  that 
he  had  helped  to  make  her  father  rich;  for  her 


102  THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS 

sake  that  he  carried  his  divining-rod  hither  and 
thither;  for  her  sake  that  he  augmented  the  out- 
put of  the  Winship  Mine,  that  Sir  George  might 
the  better  administer  to  her  fancies  and  endow 
her  -with  fine  clothes  and  gemmed  necklaces;  for 
her  sake  that  he  pored  over  the  lore  of  sages 
whom  he  onlj^  half  understood ;  for  her  sake  that 
he  sat  o'  nights  watching  the  stars  and  studying 
their  mysteries ;  for  her  sake  that  he  was  gentle 
with  his  mother,  never  gave  her  a  sorry  word, 
day  or  night — and  was  she  not  a  woman,  besides 
being  his  mother?  For  the  sake  of  one  rustling 
petticoat  of  the  Manor  House,  and  one  sweet 
voice,  he  was  kind  to  all  women,  lovable  to  all 
children,  though  churlish  to  some  men;  just,  in 
a  measure,  the  counterpart  in  his  virtue  to  Ziletto 
in  his  vice. 

Clegg  found  his  chief  happiness  in  communing 
with  Nature.  If  he  did  not  carve  her  name  on 
trees,  as  Orlando  did,  he  confided  his  love  to 
them,  his  hopes  and  joys.  The  great  hulking 
beggar,  as  the  constable  called  him,  would  lay 
him  down  in  the  grass  or  sit  by  the  Derwent,  or 
stand  with  his  face  against  some  favorite  tree, 
and  feel  happy  with  Nature,  that  neither  lied  to 
him,  nor  flattered  him,  nor  feared  him,  but  was 
always  the  same  frank  companion,  and  had 
yielded  up  many  a  secret  to  him,  voluntarily  and 
perforce;  never  chary  of  response  to  his  love, 
nor  even  jealous  of  his  passion  for  another. 

He  had  great  hands  and  feet,  this  man  Clegg, 
and  an  ungainly  habit  of  manner,  walking  with 
a  swinging  gait,  and  speaking  with  a  dialect  that 


THE  DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS  103 

was  thick  as  his  boots;  but  he  had  great  gray 
thoughtful  eyes,  and  a  mouth  that  was  deUcate 
in  its  hues,  though  suggestive  of  strength  of  will 
and  purpose,  and  he  had  a  well-shaped  nose  and 
compact  forehead.  He  looked  everybody  straight 
in  the  face — everybody  except  Mary  Talbot.  His 
eyes  fell  before  hers  and  his  voice  softened  and 
his  gesture  became  humble.  He  was  afraid  of 
Mary,  and  she  knew  it  and  was  kind  to  him,  and 
now  and  then  succeeded  by  her  complaisance  so 
far  as  to  get  him  to  talk  with  something  of  un- 
constraint ;  but  the  moment  the  subject  of  their 
discourse  wavered  in  its  point,  the  moment  it 
ceased  to  take  him  out  of  himself,  he  became 
self-conscious. 

"What  would  he  have  said  if  he  had  known 
what  had  transpired  between  Mary  and  his 
mother?  It  is  hard  to  say.  Seriously  as  she 
had  pledged  Mary  to  secrecy,  Mrs.  Clegg  was 
often  tempted  to  say  something  of  it  to  her  son, 
for  she  could  not  help  but  feel  that  if  Reuben 
really  wooed  the  girl  with  courage,  "put  his  best 
leg  foremost,"  to  use  her  homely  phrase,  donned 
his  Sunday  clothes  continually,  brushed  his  soft 
brown  beard  with  care,  gave  the  brim  of  his  hat 
an  extra  droop  and  stuck  a  feather  in  it,  he 
might  compete  with  the  handsomest.  She  would 
actually  have  decked  him  out  thus,  and  brought 
him  into  the  common  run  of  men,  the  dear  old 
dame,  touched  by  the  finery  of  Mary's  ribbons 
and  wondering,  if  Reuben  made  himself  smart 
and  polished,  whether  he  would  not  the  better 
strike  the  girl's  fancy. 


104  THE    DAGGER   AND   THE    CROSS 

"What  Mrs.  Clegg  feared  was  that  one  of  the 
gay  young  squires  or  townsmen  from  some  dis- 
tant place  in  Hallamshire,  or  some  visitor  at  the 
Old  Hall,  would  step  in  hetween  Reuben  and  his 
hopes,  and  capture  the  girl  before  she  had  had 
a  fair,  honest  opportunity  of  saying  "Yes"  or 
"No"  to  her  son;   and  this,  she  feared,  might 
break  his  heart — the  idea  of  which  would  have 
amused  the  strong  men  who  knew  Reuben,  and 
who  had  no  idea  of  the  capacity  of  a  girl  to  upset 
a  man  of  his  strength  of  mind  and  body.     It  was 
known  that  Clegg  had  feathered  his  nest,  and 
could,  if  he  had  chosen,  have  bought  a  girl  with 
solid  gold,  just  as  they  thought  the  men  who 
called  themselves  his  betters  did  when  they  fan- 
cied a  man's  daughter,  and  went  to  him  with 
the  price  of  her  in  money  or  lands,  in  jewels  and 
gems  and  other  finery,  or  winning  her  by  his 
persistency  and  his  courage,  as  John  Manners 
had  won  Dorothy  Vernon,  in  spit-^  of  her  hector- 
ing father,  the  King  of  the  Peak. 

But  so  it  was.  Reuben  Clegg,  in  presence  of 
a  certain  petticoat,  was  the  veriest  coward  that 
ever  posed  unconsciously  as  an  example  of  the 
power  of  k)ve. 


CHAPTER   FOURTEEN 

IN   THE  DAYS   OF   HER  INNOCENCE 

Sir  George  had  met  Ziletto  out  riding,  and 
had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  any  man  who 


THE   DAGGER   ANI^    THE    CROSS  105 

could  sit  a  horse  as  the  Itahan  sat  Radford's 
awkward  mare  must  be  a  gentleman.  "Sat 
her,"  as  he  told  his  fellow  justice  of  the  peace, 
who  lived  some  miles  away,  and  was  rarely  seen 
in  E\'am,  "by  Jove!  sir,  as  if  she  were  the  finest 
blood  in  the  county,  and  saluted  me  with  the  air 
of  a  prince,  by  Jupiter!  And  I  could  not  help 
reining  up  and  complimenting  him.  Why,  the 
fellow  must  be  a  prince  in  disguise,  as  the  con- 
stable saj^s." 

And  when  Sir  George  came  home,  and  Mary 
insisted  upon  helping  him  off  with  his  velvet 
jerkin,  while  his  man  drew  off  his  boots,  he  could 
talk  of  no  one  but  this  Signer  Ziletto. 

"Rides  like  my  old  general,  upright  as  a  May- 
pole, but  all  the  same  graceful  as  a  willow.  He 
put  that  old  hack  of  Radford's  at  the  brook  down 
by  the  glen  yonder,  and  carried  her  across  by 
main  force,  and  the  mare  went  as  if  the  devil 
was  behind  her.  Never  saw  such  a  feat  since 
Mellisli  took  Lover's  Leap — which  I  didn't  see, 
for  that  matter — and  I've  invited  the  fellow  to 
have  dinner  with  us.  Do  you  mind  sweet- 
heart? Have  I  done  the  right  thing,  little 
housekeeper?" 

"Oh,  yes,  father.  You  always  do  the  right 
thing." 

"Do  I,  my  bundle  of  good  nature;  do  I?" 

"You  know  you  do,  when  it  is  your  heart  that 
prompts  you." 

"Well,  do  you  know,  darling,  my  heart  was 
against  the  fellow  at  first.  I  felt  as  if  I  could 
not  endure  the  beggar  when  Mompesson  intro- 


106  THE   DAO(JEK   AND  THE  CROSS 

duced  him  to  me.  But  there,  you  know  I'm 
prejudiced  against  foreigners.  M.ompesson  ia 
taken  with  him ;  but  a  snatch  of  learning,  a  bit 
of  travel,  a  phrase  or  two  about  the  arts  of 
Greece  and  Rome,  captures  a  mind  like  Mom- 
pesson's;  and  he  don't  get  much  commimion  of 
thought  in  that  way  in  these  hills,  eh?" 
"I  suppose  not,"  said  Mary. 
*'If  we  are  not  to  be  envied  for  our  learning 
in  the  Peak,  at  least  we  have  the  gift  of  hos- 
pitality." 

"We  have  not  shown  much,"  said  Mary,  smil- 
ing, "to  the  foreigners  at  the  Old  Hall." 

"They  have  not  courted  it,  Mary;  and  I  don't 
know  that  the  severe-looking  gentleman  in  the 
queer  cloak  and  with  the  long  face  is  an  inviting 
subject ;  though,  by  my  haUdame,  as  your  aunt 
hath  it,  madame,  his  wife,  is  a  fine  specimen  of 
Nature's  handiwork,  that  is,  if  she  did  not  favor 
the  gypsy  so  much.  Moreover,  neither  Lady 
Stafford  nor  the  Bradshaws  have  intimated  that 
these  people  are  more  than  skilled  working  folk ; 
but  this  new  comer,  with  his  fine  manners  and 
his  royal  plume,  is  of  a  high  breeding,  and  hon- 
ors the  Hundred,  finding  it  worthy  of  a  long 
visit,  for  they  say  he  is  making  Radford's  cart- 
shed  into  a  studio,  and  Mompesson  tells  me  he 
has  asked  permission  to  design  the  decoration  for 
the  manor  spring,  and  offers  to  complete  it  at 
his  own  cost." 

"He  is  a  painter,  then,  similar  to  the  others?" 

"No,   a  sculptor;    but  it  is  not  his  vocation, 

except  by  his  own  favor,  as  it  were;  he  is  rather 


THE   DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS  107 

a  patron  than  an  artist,  and  when  he  works  it  is 
for  the  love  of  it." 

"You  are  well-informed  in  his  history,  father," 
said  Mary,  attending  to  some  trifling  household 
duties,  as  she  listened  and  drew  Sir  George  out 
on  the  topic  that  became  more  and  more  of  in- 
terest to  her. 

"Nay,  he  talks  to  Mompesson,  and  I  looked  in 
on  Vicars,  the  tailor,  to  have  a  lace  mended,  and 
he  was  brimming  over  with  accounts  of  „the 
stranger's  generosity,  his  marvelous  knowledge, 
and  the  fancy  the  foreigner  hath  taken  to  Eyam 
and  the  country  round  about;  praises  the  Dale 
of  Middleton,  sees  something  we  none  of  us  have 
seen  in  the  aspect  of  Froggatt's  Edge,  and  pro- 
nounces the  Derwent  a  stream  in  a  thousand. 
You  approve  of  his  coming  to  have  dinner  with 
us?" 

"Oh,  yes;  1  think  it  is  most  thoughtful  of 
you,  and  kind.  Don't  you  think  you  might  ask 
Mr.  Reuben  Clegg  also?"  said  Mary,  "He  is 
the  only  neighbor,  except  Mr.  Mompesson,  who 
is  learned  and  has  opinions." 

"Ask  Clegg,"  said  Sir  George,  in  his  breeziest 
manner ;  * '  why  not? ' ' 

"I  see  no  reason,"  said  Mary;  "he  and  Mr. 
Mompesson  don't  always  agree ;  it  would  make 
quite  a  good  company  to  ask  Mr.  Stanley  also. ' ' 

"Now  you  are  in  jest,  Mary;  though  I  don't 
see  why  Stanley  and  Mompesson  should  not  be 
good  friends." 

"If  rehgion  were  that  true  thing  they  preach 
about,  they  would  be,"  the  girl  repUed. 


108  THE   DAGGER  A^D  THE   CROSS 

"You  are  expressing  the  sentiments  of  Clegg," 
Bald  Sir  George;  "but  you  often  pay  'Old 
Thoughtful'  that  kind  of  compliment." 

"Do  1?  You  shouldn't  call  him ' Old  Thought- 
ful' ;  it  is  a  nickname," 

"Thnn  Twill  only  call  him  Mr.  Clegg.  But 
what  a  Solomon  he  is,  to  be  sure.  He  couldn't 
have  had  a  niclcname  more  like  his  character. 
They  used  to  call  Stanley  'Old  Tub-thumper,' 
you  know ;  and  he  did  bang  the  desk  sometimes 
when  he  was  preaching,  did  he  not?  Do  you 
know  what  they  call  Dakin  the  constable?  'Old 
Wait-a-bit!'  How  he  hates  Clegg!  It's  worse 
to  be  made  fun  of  than  to  be  smitten  with  a  cud- 
gel. Clegg  makes  Dakin  squirm.  "While  you 
were  at  your  aunt's  there  was  a  case  of  trespass 
the  constable  brought  before  me;  Clegg  was  a 
witness ;  and  it  was  as  good  as  Punch  and  Judy 
at  the  Wakes  to  hear  Reuben  and  the  constable 
arguing." 

"You  don't  often  hold  your  court,  now, 
father." 

"No,  my  dear;  we  are  a  happy  and  law-abid- 
ing community,  and  I  am  thankful  for  it ;  though 
I  would  not  mind  having  such  a  case  as  the  as- 
sault and  trespass  no  bones  broken,  as  the  con- 
stable says,  and  no  committal,  to  have  the  pleas- 
ure of  setting  Clegg  and  Dakin  at  each  other; 
a  couple  of  game  cocks,  with  spurs  that  don't 
draw  blood,  but  rankle  mightily,  I  am  afraid. 
I  managed  to  soften  Clegg  to  the  other  when  it 
was  all  over ;  Clegg  shook  hands  with  the  con- 

ptftble,  and  everybody  oonceme^  wept  to  thf! 


THE   DAGGER  aXD   THE   CROSS  109 

Crown  and  Anchor  afterward.  And  I  do  verily 
believe  I  will  invite  Clegg  to  dinner  with  the 
stranger,  and  Master  and  Mistress  Mompesson. 
You  must  ask  Clegg  to  tell  you  all  about  Dakin's 
ideas  of  rights  of  way  and  what  constitutes  an 
assault  and  batter}^  in  the  eyes  of  the  law." 

There  was  a  certain  sobriety  of  tone  and  cut 
in  Mary  Talbot's  dress  that  heightened  her  type 
of  beauty.  Not  that  she  adhered  altogether  to 
the  quiet  fashion  of  the  time;  she  modified  its 
plainness  with  a  ribbon  or  a  brooch,  and  the 
mounting  of  her  feather  fan,  and  there  was 
above  all  the  whiteness  of  her  neck,  the  ruddy 
healthfulness  of  her  complexion,  her  wealth  of 
rich  brown  hair,  and  her  gay  and  cheerful 
manner. 

"I  cannot  tell  you  how  much  I  have  missed 
you,  Mary,  all  this  week,"  Sir  George  suddenly 
exclaimed,  taking  her  into  his  arms  and  kissing 
her.  "What  should  I  do  without  you,  if  some 
day  you  took  it  into  your  fantastic  little  head  to 
get  married?" 

"But  I  never  shall,  dear,"  she  said.  "Never, 
never,  never." 

"I  verily  believe  I  should  hate  the  fellow," 
said  Sir  George,  laughing. 

"No,  dear,  you  would  not,  if  I  loved  him. 
But  why  anticipate  misfortune?"  she  replied, 
laughing  in  her  turn.  "Aunt  Deborah  says  one 
had  better  be  buried  than  married." 

"Ah,  she's  no  authority,"  answered  Sir 
George.  "I  don't  recall  that  anybody  ever 
proposed  to  makfl  Deborah  his  partner  in  life, 


110  THE    DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS 

though   a   man   might  have  gone   further  and 
fared  the  worse.'* 

"The  dear  old  lady;  what  a  shame!"  said 
Mary.  "But  'nobody  has  axed  me,  sir,  she  said 
—  sir,  she  said!'  " 

"They've  got  to  face  me  first,  my  dear,"  said 
Sir  George;  "and  they  know  I'd  cudgel  them. 
I  never  told  you  that  young  Maynard  had  the 
auda<^ity  to  sound  me  on  the  subject,  as  he 
called  it." 

"No;  of  atmth?" 

"Ay,  of  a  truth,  Mary." 

"And  did  you  cudgel  him?" 

"With  a  frown  and  a  'devil-take-it,  sir,'  and  I 
know  not  what,"  said  Sir  George,  breaking  out 
into  a  loud  guffaw.  "And  you  should  have  seen 
the  fellow." 

"Was  he  so  frightened?" 

"That  was  he,  indeed." 

"Then  he's  not  for  me,  Sir  George,"  said 
Mary,  with  a  theatrical  toss  of  her  head.  "The 
man  who  marries  me  must  brave  the  world  for 
me — father,  friends,  country." 

"Tut!  tut!  thou  hast  been  reading  a  romance," 
said  Sir  George,  soberly. 

"Yes,  a  romance;  I  did  but  jest,  love." 

"You  would  never  defy  your  father,  Mary?'' 

"What?  Like  my  Lady  Manners  of  Haddon? 
Steal  from  home  and  hide  away  in  the  dark, 
and—" 

"Having  had  the  fellow  lurking  about  in  the 
woods  like  a  poaching  outlaw,  and  with  her  con- 
sent, the  hussy!"  said  Sir  George,  indignantly. 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS  111 

*'It  was  an  act  of  shame,  indeed,"  said  Mary; 
"though  'twas  like  a  romance  set  forth  in 
cantos. ' ' 

"A  romance!"  exclaimed  Sir  George.  "An 
abduction;  a  lawless  outrage,  Mary;  and  who 
would  have  thought  it,  for  she  had  hitherto  been 
a  dutiful  child,  honored  her  father  and  her 
mother,  and — " 

"I  have  heard  you  say  that  her  father  was 
haughty ;  overbearing ;  a  tyrant,  indeed ;  and  to 
none  more  so  than  his  own  flesh  and  blood." 

"And  so  am  I,"  said  Sir  George.  "I  am  a 
tyrant." 

"A  very  honey-sweet  tyrant,"  said  Mary; 
"and  everybody  knows  it — strong  of  head  and 
soft  of  heart." 

"  'Strong  i'  the  arm  an'  weak  i'  the  head,' 
is  the  proverb,"  said  Sir  George;  "and  by  the 
mass,  I  sometimes  think  it's  true." 

"When  don't  you  think  it's  true,  sir?"  Mary 
asked.  "When  you  think  of  those  Italians,  I 
suppose." 

"Nay,  confound  them,  I  don't  compare  our 
men  with  such,  nor  our  women  either.  When 
strength  drifts  into  paint- pots  and  making  pic- 
tures, it's  a  poor  business,  after  all.  I  suspect  it 
was  Staffordshire  or  Yorkshire  that  made  the 
proverb  about  Derbyshire  out  of  pique  for  a 
beating  we  gave  them  some  time  or  other,  and 
while  they  could  not  deny  the  strength  of  our 
arm  they  flung  at  us  the  sneer  about  our  head." 

"Then  you  don't  believe  the  proverb?" 

"No,  I  don't.     I  think  we  are  as  good  as  our 


112  THE   DAGGER    AND   THE   CROSS 

neigliboi's  and  a  little  better;  and  if  one  was  put 
to  it  for  evidence,  I  don't  know  that  old  Bess  of 
Hardwicke,  amon^^  women,  could  bo  bettered  as 
to  a  Derbysliire  bead ;  and  to  come  to  men  in  our 
own  daj',  what  do  you  say  to  Clegg?' ' 

"A  man  in  a  thousand,"  said  Mary. 

"You  think  so?" 

'*Yes,"  said  Mary. 

"You  do?"  said  Sir  George,  pulling  her  upon 
his  knee;  "you  do,  in  very  truth?" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "in  very  truth." 

"I  sometimes  think  it  is  a  pity  Clegg  is  not  a 
gentleman,"  said  Sir  George,  kissing  his  daugh- 
ter's fair  hand. 

"But  is  he  not  a  gentleman?"  Mary  asked,  her 
voice  dropping  a  little  anxiously,  for  it  occurred 
to  her  all  in  a  moment  that  perhaps  Mrs.  Clegg 
had  been  saying  something  to  her  father  about 
Reuben,  or  that  Clegg  himself  might  have 
spoken  to  him  on  the  delicate  subject  that  his 
mother  had  mentioned  to  her  so  keenl3^ 

"Oh  yes,  at  heart,  but  not  by  birth;  if  he  had 
been,  who  knows? — But  there,  that  is  a  matter 
that  will  keep.  Do  you  know,  my  love,  while  I 
think  I  should,  as  I  have  said,  hate  the  man  who 
took  you  from  me,  I  remember  now  and  then, 
as  I  ought,  that  I  am  getting  on  in  years,  and 
that  some  day  you  will  need  another  protector 
and  companion,  and — " 

"Very  well,  dear;  when  my  John  Manners, 
or  the  prince  on  the  white  horse,  comes,  we  will 
talk  about  it;  but  not  now,  dear,  not  now,"  said 
Mary,  taking  the  ruddy  genial  face  of  Sir  George 


THE   DAGOER  AND   THE   CROSS  113 

between  her  dimpled  generous  hands  and  kissing 
him  on  both  cueeks.  "When  is  our  company  to 
come  to  dinner?" 

"When?     To-morrow  shall  it  be?" 

"Yes.  I  will  go  and  ask  the  Mompessons; 
you  shall  call  and  engage  Mr,  Clegg  and  the 
Italian — let  me  see,  what  is  his  name? — Ziletto?" 

"Signor  Giovanni  Ziletto,"  said  Sir  George; 
"and  I  will  lay  you  a  wager  of  what  you  will 
that  Clegg  hates  him." 

Sir  George  swore  "by  the  'mass,"  and  had 
other  harmless  oaths.  Even  to  this  day,  with- 
out a  thought  of  its  origin,  Derbyshire  men  swear 
by  the  Virgin.  They  vow  ' ' by-mi-leddy " ;  though 
Sir  George  had  reason  for  his  habit,  seeing  that 
his  ancestors  were  Roman  Catholics  to  a  man. 
"And  are  true  Catholics  now,"  he  would  say; 
"it  is  the  others  that  have  gone  astray. "  But 
he  was  tolerant  and  broad  minded,  and  Mary 
had  unconsciously  imbibed  some  of  the  ultra- 
liberal  sentiments  of  Clegg.  She  was  not  jesting 
in  the  least  when  she  named  Mr.  Stanley  for  a 
guest.  He  had  been  the  rector,  and  might  have 
been  still,  if  he  had  chosen  to  take  the  oath  of 
Conformity;  and  though  he  was  outside  the 
Orthodox  pale,  he  still  remained  in  the  village 
and  ministered  to  many  of  his  old  former  flock, 
even  to  some  of  those  who  still  went  to  church 
and  obeyed  the  authority  of  the  State. 

They  were  a  very  companionable  couple,  you 
see,  this  father  and  daughter.  There  came  a 
time  when  the  villagers  said  Mary  had  always 
been  too  free  with  religion  and  too  indifferent  to 


114  THE  DAGGER  AND  THE   CROSS 

the  common  usages;  but  hitherto,  no  love  or  in- 
terest or  question  of  any  kind  had  come  between 
Sir  George  and  his  daughter's  confidence  and 
affection.  No  gallant,  lover  or  otherwise,  had 
as  yet  disturbed  her  relations  with  home.  Reu- 
ben Clegg,  in  spite  of  himself,  had  secret  desires 
of  sharing  Mary's  heart  with  her  brave  old 
father,  but  it  was  only  his  doting  mother  that 
kept  his  little  lamp  of  love  fairly  alight. 


CHAPTER  FIFTEEN 

VISIONS   OF  BEAUTY   AND  A  SHADOW 

While  Sir  George  Talbot  and  his  daughter 
were  discussing  Ziletto  at  the  Manor  House  in 
the  village,  Father  Castelli  and  Roubillac  were 
similarly  engaged  in  the  priest's  room  at  the  Old 
Hall. 

It  was  an  odd  quadrangular  apartment  which 
the  priest  occupied,  with  an  adjoining  room  not 
much  larger  than  the  carved  four-post  bed  on 
which  he  slept,  a  grim-looking  arrangement 
compared  with  modern  notions;  it  had  heavy 
hangings  and  a  canopy,  the  complete  arrange- 
ment suggestive  rather  of  a  catafalque  than  a 
bed  for  a  living  sleeper.  The  room  that  served 
for  his  study  and  parlor  was  paneled  in  oak, 
with  a  couple  of  heavy  beams  supporting  the 
ceiling,  each  decorated  with  a  corbel,  carved  by 
some  humorist  who  had  composed  a  quartet  of 


THE   DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS  115 

heads  with  facial  expressions  probably  signifying 
Spring,  Summer,  Autumn  and  Winter,  two  of 
them  bursting  with  laughter  at  the  others. 

In  front  of  a  small  altar  there  was  a  low 
bench,  constructed  after  the  manner  of  the  chair 
we  know  as  a  prie-Dieu ;  and  the  other  furniture 
consisted  of  a  heavy  square  table,  with  a  few 
parchment- bound  books  and  manuscripts  theron, 
an  oak  seat,  that  was  also  a  chest  for  clothes, 
and  a  couple  of  high-backed  chairs. 

On  the  walls  hung  a  quaint-looking  map  of 
Italy  and  a  chart  of  England.  The  floor  was 
bare,  with  the  exception  of  a  rush  mat  by  the 
table,  and  the  sun  streamed  in  from  a  diamond- 
paned  window,  let  so  deep  into  the  wall  that  the 
sill  almost  made  a  seat,  though  a  high  one,  and 
it  wae  decorated  with  a  great  jar  of  blue  iris. 

The  occupants  of  the  room  became  it  well. 
Father  Castelli,  with  his  ascetic  shaven  face  and 
his  monkish  gown,  looked  little  more  the  priest 
than  Roubillac  in  his  customary  robe,  redeemed, 
however,  from  its  somber  hue  and  dark  fur  by 
the  embroidered  vest  and  chain  of  gold  that  he 
wore  about  his  neck.  It  was  a  noble  face, 
though  lacking  in  what  would  be  called  strength ; 
the  face  of  a  man  of  suppressed  feeling;  the  face 
of  a  poet,  with  steadfast  eyes  that  seemed  pre- 
occupied with  some  other  subject  than  ihat  he 
was  discussing,  and  yet  his  very  heart  and  soul 
were  in  the  theme. 

"He  can  only  have  one  object  in  coming  here," 
he  said,  addressing  the  priest,  his  back  against 
the  wainscot  by  the  window,  his  figure  in  shallow 


IIG  THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS 

except  when,  once  in  a  wa}^  be  turned  to  gaze 
upon  the  landscape,  as  if  he  sought  something 
there  or  that  he  was  trying  to  collect  his  thoughts. 

The}^  spoke  in  their  own  melodious  language, 
their  voices  at  one  time  seeming  to  make  a  coo- 
ing music,  and  at  another  to  rise  into  tones  of 
storm  and  threatening. 

"He  denies  that  he  has  any  malicious  or  un- 
holy feeling  toward  either  of  you ;  declares  that 
he  had  long  since  znade  up  his  mind  to  travel  in 
England,  even  before  you  met  in  Venice.  He 
saj^s  it  is  his  business  in  these  regions  to  study 
arcliJ3eology  and  the  barbaric  art  of  the  feudal 
halls  and  castles  of  the  North  of  Britain.  It 
was  while  making  his  way  to  Haddon  and  Chats- 
worth  and  Pcveril's  Castle  that  he  stumbled 
upon  Eyam  by  accident,  and — " 

"He  lies,  father — he  lies!"  exclaimed  Rou- 
billac. 

"It  maybe  so,"  the  priest  replied,  "but  he 
lies  with  all  the  circumstance  of  truth.  He  came 
hither  from  London,  and  brings  letters  from  the 
court:  would  be  welcomed  at  the  stately  hall  of 
Haddon,  but  he  finds  new  and  strange  attraction 
in  the  village  life  of  Eyam;  affects  to  be  taken 
with  its  restfulness,  and  is  transforming  a  shed 
of  the  inn  to  the  purposes  of  a  studio." 

"Then  some  unhappy  woman  has  had  the 
misfortune  to  inspire  his  lust,"  said  Roubillac, 
scornfully. 

"Nay,  my  son,"  replied  the  priest,  "they  love 
their  women,  these  northern  islanders,  and  are 
a  proud  race.    It  would  go  hard  with  Ziletto  it 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE    CROSS  117 

he  should  seek  to  amuse  himself  here,  as  he  is 
credited  with  doing  in  Venice— the  profligate!" 

"It  should  have  gone  hard  with  him  in  Venice 
if  the  devil  had  not  more  power  there  than  the 
Church,"  said  Roubillac,  bitterly. 

"Vengeance  neither  belongs  to  man  nor  the 
Church,"  the  priest  answered. 

"The  Church  has  invoked  the  ax  and  the 
brand  on  many  a  quivering  subject,  neverthe- 
less," said  Roubillac. 

"Under  God,  and  by  His  command,"  said  the 
priest.  "Thou  art  profane,  Roubillac,  my  son. 
I  forgive  theo,  because  thou  art  in  distress  of 
mind!" 

"What  is  it  that  moves  you  so  grievously, 
father?"  said  the  soft  voice  of  a  beautiful  woman, 
standing  in  the  doorway.  She  had  entered 
upon  the  scene  so  silently  that  she  might  have 
been  a  vision. 

"You  here,  my  love!"  said  Roubillac,  advanc- 
ing toward  her  and  taking  her  hand. 

"I  was  seeking  you,"  said  Francesca,  her  dark 
eyes  resting  upon  the  face  of  Roubillac.  ' '  They 
told  me  you  had  walked  this  way." 

"We  are  right  glad  you  have  come,"  said  the 
priest,  rising.  "Nay,  daughter,  be  seated.  We 
were  just  talking  of  you." 

"What,  in  so  sad  a  strain?"  she  said,  smiling. 
"And  I  felt  so  happy.  The  sun  is  so  warm,  yet 
the  air  is  crisp  and  sets  one's  spirits  dancixig. ' ' 

"It  is  indeed  a  rare  day,"  said  Roubillac,  en- 
deavoring t'Q  respond  to  the  cheerfulness  of  hisi 
wife. 


118  THE   DAGGER  AND  THE   CROSS 

"Then  why  were  you  sad?" 
"I  don't  think  we  were  sad,"  said  the  priest. 
*' Perhaps  a  little  anxious,  but  the  shadow  has 
passed  with  the  sunshine  of  thy  presence.    Come, 
sit,  and  make  us  feel  at  home." 

Francesca,  arranging  her  demi-toilet  robe  in 
artistic  folds,  sat  in  the  high-backed  chair  which 
the  priest  indicated,  and  Roubillac  placed  for  her 
a  rush  hassock  as  a  footstool.  She  sat  as  upon 
a  throne,  and  looked  a  queen.  From  beneath 
her  apple-green  skirt  of  satin  peeped  forth  two 
pretty  feet,  in  white  morocco  shoes  with  high 
heels. 

"Now,  my  son,  where  are  thy  easel,  thy 
palette,  and  thy  brushes?  Were  it  not  a  vanity 
to  say  so,  it  is  long  since  I  saw  so  dainty  a  study 
— nay,  understand,  I  speak  with  the  painter's 
eye,"  said  the  priest,  still  anxious  to  turn  the 
woman's  thoughts  from  the  point  of  wondering 
what  they  were  discussing  when  she  had  sur- 
prised them, 

"Peace,  dear  father,"  replied  the  lady,  raising 
a  fair  white  finger  by  way  of  protest.  "I  am 
weary  of  posing." 

"Then  you  shall  set  up  your  own  easel  and  I 
will  pose  for  you,"  said  Roubillac,  "as  the  tyrant 
who  enslaved  the  fairest  maid  of  Venice." 

"I  did  but  jest,  Bernardo.  You  spoil  me.  So 
do  you.     Father  Castelli,  I  am  too  happy!" 

"You  no  longer  despise  your  new  home?"  said 
the  priest. 

"Did  I  despise  it?"  she  said,  with  an  apolo- 
getic smile.    "Ah,  it  was  so  cold  and  bleak!" 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE   CROSS  119 

*'Not  more  so,  my  daughter,  than  our  own 
dear  Venice  in  December." 

"I  love  Venice!"  she  said,  with  a  languishing 
glance  at  the  window. 

"Then  we  will  go  hence,  dear  heart,  back  to 
our  own  home  by  the  sea.  It  was  in  our  thoughts 
when  you  sought  us." 

"Nay,  my  son,"  said  the  priest. 

"But  it  was,  dear  father,  it  was!"  said  Jlou- 
billac. 

"I  do  not  desire  to  go  hence;  and  if  I  did, 
'twould  not  be  before  the  Feast  of  Ascension, 
the  decoration  of  the  springs;  and,  moreover, 
thou  art  to  design  the  chief  offering  to  Flora," 
said  Francesca,  with  animation,  the  color  mount- 
ing into  her  olive  complexion. 

A  pang  of  jealous  fear  shot  through  Rou- 
billac's  brain  as  he  noted  the  sudden  light  in  her 
eyes,  which  rarely  betrayed  the  emotion  of  pleas- 
ure except  when  Venice  or  Verona  was  in  ques- 
tion. Father  Castelli  had  assured  Roubillac  that 
Ziletto  had  not  yet  seen  Francesca,  either  at  the 
Old  Hall  or  in  the  village.  Watching  the  ani- 
mation of  his  wife,  Roubillac  nevertheless  be- 
came suddenly  the  prey  of  doubt  and  fear. 

"And  this  lovely  season  of  the  year,"  she 
went  on,  "is  only  the  beginning  of  the  EngHsh 
summer;  and  Venice  has  no  gardens,  nor  any 
flowers — " 

"Francesca!"  expostulated  Roubillac. 
"Not  like  unto  these,"  she  said,  rising  and 
going  to  the  window  and   opening  the  lattice, 
"Look,  Bernardo;  look,  father  I" 


120  THE   DAfifJER    AND   THE   CROSS 

It  was  a  scene  of  delightful  contrast  to  Italy ; 
a  scene  in  which  the  freshness  of  English  land- 
scape in  the  springtime  has  a  charm  of  its  own; 
a  lightness  in  the  air,  a  sprightliness  in  every- 
thing— in  the  chatter  of  the  brook,  the  mirth  of 
the  blackbird's  song,  the  cheeriness  of  the  lark — 
a  great  hopefulness  in  all  things. 

Italy  may  have  something  of  this  in  its  May 
days,  but  there  is  with  it  a  certain  languor,  a 
sense  of  heat,  an  unvarying  blue  sky,  a  drowsi- 
ness of  the  air,  the  hum  of  insects  rather  than 
the  song  of  birds,  for  it  is  in  the  evening  the 
nightingale  sings. 

It  is  possible  that  Francesca  felt  the  impulse 
of  joy  that  belongs  more  to  the  English  spring 
perhaps  than  to  the  April  or  May  of  other  lands, 
however  much  more  gorgeous  may  be  their  suns 
and  skies,  the  deep  blues  of  their  waters,  the 
luxury  of  their  vines  and  the  burning  radiance 
of  their  flowers. 

"Is  it  not  beautiful!"  the  woman  said,  pointing 
to  a  corner  of  the  walled-in  garden  below  them. 

The  picture  might  well  challenge  their  admi- 
ration ;  not  so  familiar  then  as  you  will  find  it 
nowada3^s,  for  they  have  become  great  garden- 
ers all  over  the  Peak  during  the  present  century; 
indeed,  you  shall  travel  the  world  over  and  see 
no  finer  exainples  of  the  art  than  are  to  be  found 
in  Derbyshire.  But  it  is  with  the  past  that  we 
have  to  do,  closely  as  it  may  be  linked  with  the 
present. 

In  that  particular  corner  of  the  Old  Hall  gar- 
den to  which  Francesca  pointed,  clusters  of  lilacs, 


THE   DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS  121 

laburnums,  and  gelder-roses,  which  some  call 
"Whitsun  bosses  and  others  snowballs,  were 
radiant  in  alternating  gold  and  purple  and  white 
against  a  backgroimd  of  dusky  pines. 

Fringed  with  snowy  pyramids  of  white  lupins 
and  shadowy  clusters  of  Canterbury  bells,  the 
immediate  foreground  was  ablaze  with  peonies. 
The  foreign  trio  could  not  see  the  wealth  of  wild 
hyacinth  that  filled  the  air  with  perfume,  wafted 
by  a  gentle  breeze  that  came  through  the  adja- 
cent woods,  but  they  found  the  atmosphere 
sweet,  with  varied  scents  of  lilac,  budding  May 
and  full-blown  bluebells. 

This  fragrant  glimpse  of  cultured  ground  was 
but  an  incident  in  a  broad  expanded  prospect 
that  might  rival  the  valley  of  the  Adige  itself ; 
for  the  Adige,  with  its  feathery  poplars  and  its 
fertile  plain,  was  in  the  mind  of  Francesca,  s^jr- 
prised  though  she  was  with  the  beauty  of  the 
British  garden,  backed  with  undulating  moor- 
land, scrub,  and  forest,  variegated  with  flashing 
streams. 

The  Derwent  could  be  seen,  marking  its  coT/rse 
with  green  banks  and  foliage ;  here  and  therK'i  an 
oak  or  an  elm  standing  sentinel  over  bunches  of 
hawthorns  freshly  budded,  and  flanked  by  flower- 
ing chestnuts,  the  moors  and  meadows  beyond 
rising  gradually  toward  the  sky,  Masson,  Axe- 
edge,  Mam  Tor,  Kinderscout  and  Stanage  lost 
among  mountains  of  white  clouds  that  in  their 
stillness  beneath  a  vast  stretch  of  blue  sky  nvight 
have  been  the  snowy  Alps  of  Italy.  Thus  ram 
their  thoughts,    the  three    spectators,    as  they 


122      THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

gazed  upon  the  sunny  cumulus,  Roubillac  voicing 
their  reflections  in  the  remark,  "One  can  ahnost 
feel  the  life  in  yonder  clouds — the  mountaineers, 
the  bleating  of  the  goats,  the  echoes  of  the  tor- 
rents, the  music  of  the  shepherd's  pipe." 

■"  'Who  can  number  the  clouds  in  wisdom?'  " 
said  the  priest,  quoting  his  favorite  prophet. 
"  'Or  who  can  stay  the  bottles  of  heaven,  when 
the  dust  groweth  into  hardness,  and  the  clouds 
cleave  fast  together?'  " 

"Our  own  Alps  are  not  more  beautiful,"  said 
Roubillac,  the  shadow  of  doubt  passing  as  he 
looked  into  the  face  of  his  wife,  that  in  its  purity 
of  expression  was  complementary  to  the  scene 
itself. 

Then  all  in  a  moment  the  calm  reflective  as- 
pect of  Francesca's  face  changed  to  one  of 
alarm. 

"Bernardo!"  she  exclaimed,  clinging  to  his 
arm;  "Bernardo!" 

"Yes,  love,  yes;  what  is  it?"  responded  Ber- 
nardo, anxiously. 

There  was  to  the  ear  of  the  priest  a  certain 
profanity  in  the  answer  that  made  him  cross 
himself. 

"Be  not  afraid,  it  is  I,"  said  Ziletto,  "I  am 
sorry  to  have  disturbed  you." 

He  lifted  his  broad  hat  with  its  plume  (his 
dress  was  after  the  fashion  of  the  Court  of 
Charles)  as  he  spoke,  and,  passing  the  window, 
stood  in  the  open  doorway,  where  Francesca  had 
appeared,  only  a  short  time  before,  a  vision  of 
grace  and  beauty. 


THE  DAGGER  AND   THE  CROSS  133 

It  was  as  if  the  devil  in  silk  and  velvet  and 
love-locks  had  taken  her  place,  though  the  latter 
figure  could  not  have  failed  to  please  an  esthetic 
taste ;  not  that  which  in  modern  days  the  public 
has  been  taught  to  esteem  as  esthetic,  for  this 
was  a  full-blooded,  mascuhne,  aggressive  figure. 
There  was  nothing  limp  or  long-necked,  nothing 
anaemic  about  Ziletto;  he  was  a  veritable  man 
of  bone  and  muscle,  and,  unhappily,  with  no 
conscience  to  mortify  the  flesh  or  cloud  the  eye 
in  which  youth  and  audacity  reigned  triumphant. 

' '  I  was  informed  that  the  reverend  father  was 
alone,"  he  continued,  bowing  with  great  for- 
mality to  Francesca  and  Roubillac;  "otherwise 
I  would  have  sought  another  opportunity  to  do 
myself  the  honor  of — " 

"You  need  not  embarrass  yourself  or  us  with 
further  apology.  Signer  Ziletto,"  said  Roubillac, 
taking  his  wife  by  the  hand;  **we  bid  you  good 
day,  signor." 

"The  same  to  you,  signor  and  signora,"  said 
Ziletto,  with  a  gracious  sweep  of  his  hat,  as  he 
stood  aside  and  gave  way  for  Roubillac  and  his 
wife  to  pass  out. 


CHAPTER  SIXTEEN" 

GUESTS   AT   THE  MANOR   HOUSE 

The  midday  meal  at  the   Manor  House,  to 
which  the  Mompessons,  Clegg  and  Ziletto  had 


124      THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

been  invited,  had  not,  in  the  estimation  of  Sir 
George  and  Clegg,  been  altogether  a  satisfactory 
meeting. 

From  the  point  of  view  of  hospitahty,  it  had 
been  everything  that  host  and  guests  could  have 
desired.  It  included  trout  from  the  Derwent,  a 
chine  of  beef,  a  sacking  pig,  a  gammon  of  bacon, 
with  gooseberry  and  rhubarb  pies,  and  a  remark- 
able flat  cake  or  pastry  of  preserve  and  cream 
and  dainty  crust,  not  unlike  what  is  called  the 
Bakewell  pudding  of  the  present  day. 

The  chief  topic  of  conversation  was  the 
stranger's  arrival  at  Eyam.  Sir  George  and 
his  friends  were  all  anxious  about  him  and  what 
he  had  recently  seen  in  the  outer  world.  The 
Mompessons  and  Mary  Talbot  were  frank  and 
ingenuous  in  their  treatment  of  Ziletto.  Clegg 
was  unusually  reticent,  and  there  was  in  Sir 
George's  attitude  a  suggestion  of  suspicion. 

"You  were  in  London  in  January,  Signor 
Ziletto,  so  I  gathered,"  said  Mr.  Mompesson. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Ziletto;  "and  glad  to  find 
quarters  at  Hampton ;  such  is  the  name  of  the 
palace  of  the  king,  on  the  river  Thames." 

Sir  George  looked  at  Clegg,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"Now  we  shall  hear  something;  keep  your  ears 
open ;  if  he  is  all  he  professes  to  be,  well ;  if  not, 
we  are  not  altogether  the  ignorant  barbarians  he 
may  think  us." 

"I  had  not  the  honor  of  being  a  guest;  no,  but 
I  had  the  felicity  to  be  presented  to  his  Majesty. 
He  was  very  sad  about  the  plague ;  Parliament, 
f ou  know,  moved  to  Oxford  on  that  account.     It 


•tHE   DAGGER    AND   THE    CROSS  125 

was  a  melancholy  sight,  the  metropolis.  The 
bells  were  tolHng,  all  trade  was  suspended,  there 
were  fearful  looks  on  every  face,  though  the 
worst  was  past,  they  said ;  and  I  had  the  honor 
to  acquaint  the  king  with  what  I  had  seen  at  the 
exchange.  On  the  other  hand,  the  court  was 
buoyant  with  your  English  victories  over  the 
Dutch." 

Ziletto  paused,  as  if  for  comment  or  question. 
He  noted  that  Miss  Talbot's  eyes  were  directed 
toward  him  with  inquiring  interest. 

"The  cold  weather,  it  was  said,  had  much 
mitigated  the  plague,  and  some  of  the  people 
who  had  fled  were  already  returning  to  their 
homes.  A  noble  palace,  that  of  Hampton,  built 
by  the  great  Cardinal  Wolsey.  His  Majesty 
himself  showed  me  the  banqueting  hall  and 
some  fine  tapestries,  and  was  gracious  enough  to 
invite  my  opinion  upon  a  question  of  decorative 
art.  The  king  has  a  rare  taste ;  he  is  himself  a 
study  worthy  of  the  finest  painter.  But  I  weary 
you." 

' '  Not  at  all ,  si  gnor, ' '  said  Sir  George .  ' '  Noth- 
ing so  interesting  as  the  report  of  the  messenger 
who  is  fresh  from  the  field." 

"I  had  the  extreme  felicity  to  carry  with  me 
to  the  English  court  letters  from  the  Venetian 
republic  and  from  Florence;  but  what  will  be 
of  most  account  to  you.  Sir  George  Talbot,  is 
the  king's  mention  of  the  hospitable  lords  of 
Haddon,  and  the  architectural  beauties  of  the 
Peak  country,  which  he  advised  me  to  see,  being 
interested  in  architecture  and  the  kindred  arts. 


196  THE  DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS 

That  is  how  I  came  to  find  my  way  to  this  beau- 
teous English  village  and  to  this  honorable  com- 
pany. The  repose  that  I  find  here,  face  to  face 
Avith  Nature,  after  so  many  years  of  sojourning 
in  great  cities,  in  busy  camps,  and  at  gay  and 
imperial  courts,  is  refreshment  to  the  soul,  and 
for  the  weary  body  a  welcome  peace." 

"He  is  gifted  with  a  natural  eloquence,"  said 
Mrs.  Mompesson,  in  an  aside  remark  to  her 
husband. 

After  dinner  Sir  George  placed  his  finest 
Malmsey  before  his  guests,  and  later  they 
smoked  Virginian  tobacco  from  long  clay  pipes; 
and  Sir  George  unbuckled  his  belt,  and  they  all 
sat  at  their  ease. 

It  was  a  large  handsome  room,  and  in  a 
corner,  by  the  furthest  window  that  looked  upon 
the  garden,  there  was  a  spinet,  upon  which  first 
Mrs.  Mompesson  played,  and  then  Mary  essayed 
an  old  English  melody  simply  arranged.  Ziletto 
watched  for  a  favorable  opportunity  to  sit  down 
and  try  the  instrument,  and  it  was  strange  how 
different  it  sounded  under  his  touch. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mompesson  pulled  their  chairs 
near  the  player,  to  listen,  and  Mary  would  have 
done  so,  but  Sir  George  beckoned  her  to  a  low 
stool  by  his  side,  where  she  was  often  wont  to 
sit  with  her  head  upon  his  knee.  Clegg  looked 
on  with  a  passive  expression,  smoked  his  pipe 
and  said  nothing. 

Presently  Mary  drew  her  arm  round  Mrs. 
Mompesson  and  led  her  into  the  garden.  The 
perfume  of  the  gillyflowers,  sweetbrier,  Ulac  and 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS  127 

wild  hyacinth  was  not  overcome  even  by  the 
fumes  of  the  golden  weed  of  the  New  World. 
And  it  was  a  lovely  garden,  with  trim  box-bor- 
ders, and  a  high  stone  wall,  against  which  lay 
the  white  blossoms  of  the  early  fruit  trees  that 
had  been  sheltered  all  the  winter  under  heavy 
mats  of  rushes.  Outside  the  walls  were  belts  of 
forest  trees,  and  between  their  fresh  green  and 
young  leaves  could  be  seen  the  distant  hills  and 
blue  sky,  that  was  banked  with  radiant  clouds. 

Mrs.  Mompesson  was  of  a  much  more  delicate 
frame  and  figure  than  Mary  Talbot.  She  had 
large,  gray,  wistful  eyes,  and  a  thoughtful  man- 
ner, in  marked  contrast  with  the  healthful  merry 
face  of  her  companion;  though  she  was  by  no 
means  of  a  melancholy  disposition.  She  looked 
almost  Quaker-hke  in  her  plain  black  gown  with 
its  broad  white  collar.  The  latter  was  pinned 
with  a  brooch  shaped  like  a  heart,  that  had  been 
her  husband's  wedding  present.  How  true  and 
devoted  a  wife  she  was  it  needed  not  this  history 
to  show,  for  already  her  name  is  inscribed  on  the 
undying  page  of  the  annals  of  the  mountain 
village. 

They  stood  for  a  little  while  upon  the  terrace, 
overlooking  a  wide  space  of  kitchen  garden  that 
descended  toward  a  dip  in  the  landscape  above 
which  My  Lady's  Bower  nestled  among  the 
clumps  of  foliage. 

This  outlying  post  of  the  Talbot  estate  has  an 
important  bearing  on  events  to  come,  and,  by 
the  way,  is  not  an  unusual  building;  to  this  day 
you  may  see  the  summer-house  or  arbor  in  which 


128      THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

Mary  Qiieon  of  Scots  spent  many  lonely  hours  in 
Cliatswortli  Park;  it  was  not  intended  for  a 
prison,  any  more  than  My  Lady's  B^)^ver  in  the 
little  meadow  lieyond  the  Manor  House  gardens 
was  intended  for  aught  but  pleasure  and  sweet 
repose. 

Mary  produced  a  ke}^  and,  running  ahead  of 
her  guest,  opened  the  quaint  old  sanctum  that 
at  one  time  had  been  the  gardener's  cottage,  but 
which  her  mother  had  enlarged  into  an  arbor, 
where  she  spent  much  time  over  her  tapestry 
frame. 

Sir  George  rarely  entered  the  place,  but  Mary 
had  lavished  such  artistic  taste  as  she  possessed 
upon  it.  She  had  no  personal  recollections  of 
her  mother,  though  the  arbor  had  a  kind  of 
pleasant  mystery  for  her,  associated  with  the 
portrait  of  the  beautiful  lady  whose  needle- 
pictures  helped  to  adorn  it. 

Mary  showed  Mrs.  Mompesson  some  of  the 
treasures  of  the  pretty  retreat,  which  had  for  its 
outlook  one  broad  window  with  a  seat  beneath 
it,  whence  you  could  see  the  white  rocks  of  Mid- 
dleton  Dale,  and  beyond,  glimpses  of  the  Der- 
went. 

"When  they  were  returning  to  the  house  along 
the  great  path  of  the  kitqhen  garden,  that  was 
bordered  with  herbs  and  flowers  that  are  now 
considered  old-fashioned,  Mr.  Mompesson  joined 
them  to  take  his  wife  home,  and  Ziletto  and 
Clegg  came  to  take  their  leave. 

Ziletto  kissed  the  hands  of  the  ladies  with  much 
formality,    and   Mary   felt    a   little   shiver  run 


THE  DAGGER   AND   THE    CROSS  129 

through  her  veins  when  his  Hps  touched  her 
fingers.  She  turned  so  pale  that  Mrs.  Mom- 
pesson  noticed  it,  and  came  toward  her ;  but  the 
next  moment  Mary  was  rosy  red,  and  the  in- 
cident passed.  Mary  gave  her  hand  at  parting 
to  Reuben  Clegg,  who  would  not  for  all  Eyam 
have  dared  to  emulate  the  stranger  and  touch  it 
with  his  lips — but  different  nations,  different 
manners.  He  pressed  Mary's  fingers,  neverthe- 
less, with  more  than  usual  warmth,  and  so  bade 
her  good-day ;  and  thanked  Sir  George  for  his 
hospitality. 

There  was,  however,  a  certain  anxiety  in  the 
tone  of  Clegg's  voice  that  compelled  Sir  George's 
attention,  and  he  walked  with  him  into  the  court- 
yard, where  he  also  took  leave  of  Ziletto  and  his 
neighbors  the  Mompessons. 

Clegg  thrust  his  hands  into  the  pockets  of  his 
ample  vest  and  strode  out  for  home,  full  of  an- 
ger with  himself  and  all  the  world,  cowed  in  his 
own  estimation,  never  so  mortifyingly  sensible 
of  his  ignorance.  Every  yard  he  walked  he 
thought  of  things  he  might  have  said,  and  ought 
to  have  said.  Facts  and  opinions  of  great  au- 
thorities upon  subjects  glibly  dismissed  by  Ziletto 
had  occurred  to  him  but  hazily.  He  seemed 
only  to  have  remembered  to  forget  everything 
he  ever  knew,  and  only  to  remember  that  Marj^ 
Talbot  found  her  chief  delight  in  listening  to  the 
cheap  knowledge  and  tawdry  adventures  of  the 
Italian. 

At  the  same  time  he  now  felt  that  Mary  Talbot 
was  beyond  his  mark.     And  yet  he  was  con- 


180      THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

scions  that  she  had  encouraged  him  to  believe 
that  he  might  hope.  He  recalled  more  than  one 
occasion  when  she  had  looked  at  him  in  a  way 
that  the  least  vain  of  men  might  have  construed 
into  something  more  than  a  mere  neighborly- 
friendship  ;  and  yet,  whenever  he  had  made  the 
smallest  step  toward  seeming  to  accept  the  chal- 
lenge, she  had  gathered  her  skirts  about  her  and 
retreated. 

"I'm  a  fool!"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  passed 
into  the  shadow  of  the  wood  leading  to  his  house. 
*'A  fool!  What  has  an  ungainly,  uneducated, 
untraveled,  low-bred  churl,  such  as  1,  to  do  with 
so  much  elegance  and  beauty?" 

At  about  the  time  when  Clegg  was  thus  con- 
fessing to  himself  the  hopelessness  of  his  love  for 
Mary  Talbot,  she  had  taken  her  favorite  seat  by 
her  father,  and,  after  a  few  commonplaces,  had 
led  him  on  to  the  subject  she  was  most  anxious 
to  have  him  talk  about — what  did  he  think  of 
Signer  Ziletto? 

"I  don't  like  the  fellow,"  was  Sir  George's 
verdict;  "by  my  lady,  I  don't!"  And  he  pursed 
up  his  lips  as  he  said  so,  and  stretched  his  legs 
defiantly. 

"Oh,  father!     And  wherefore?"  asked  Mary. 

"Damme!  He  has  the  eye  of  an  intriguing 
reprobate!  Why,  even  Mistress  Mompesson  re- 
coiled before  his  bold  glances." 

"Nay!     I  did  not  observe  it." 

"It  was  the  Malmsey  that  got  into  his  head; 
reminded  him,  he  said,  of  his  native  land.     That 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS  131 

was  the  time  he  told  us  of  the  merchant  ships  of 
Venice  and  their  cargoes  of  the  juice  of  the  wine- 
presses of  Greece  and  Italy.  Nothing  like  a 
glass  of  Hquor  to  bring  out  all  that  is  good  and 
all  that  is  bad  in  a  man. ' ' 

Sir  George  himself  had  his  tongue  unduly 
loosened.  The  effect  of  a  neighborly  bout  after 
dinner  between  Canary  and  Malmsey  was  to 
stimulate  Sir  George's  natural  frankness;  Mary 
thought  at  times  it  made  him  censorious. 

"Didst  notice,  as  the  bottle  passed,  how  modest 
and  friendly  our  neighbor  Clegg  became?" 

"Modest!"  said  Mary. 

"Ay,  modest;  had  naught  to  say  when  he 
could  have  said  so  much." 

"He  seemed  fuU  of  thought." 

"As  if  he  was  cogitating,  and  yet,  at  the  same 
time  striving  to  do  honor  to  his  host  and  thee. 
I  said  friendly,  my  sweet  wench,  inasmuch  as 
he  might  have  wrangled  somewhat ;  even  laying 
aside  the  opportunity  to  discuss  what  he  calls  the 
only  ethics,  and  so  on ;  mighty  friendly,  I  call 
that,  and  shows  more  breeding  than  comes  by 
nature." 

"You  forget  that  I  was  not  present  during  all 
your  conversation,  dear  father.  After  the  music, 
I  and  Mistress  Mompesson  betook  ourselves,  by 
your  leave,  to  walk  in  the  garden,"  said  Mary, 
unAvilhng  to  be  drawn  into  anything  like  com- 
ment of  Reuben's  conduct. 

"The  music!"  said  Sir  George,  with  increased 
animation.  "I  never  heard  the  like  to  be  called 
music. ' ' 


132  THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS 

*'"Wl)y,  I  have  heard  you  admire  Mistre^.^ 
Mompesson's  skill  on  the  spinet." 

' '  And  thine  own,  too,  my  love — thine  own  skill 
and  taste  above  all  others.  But  wliat  did  you 
make  of  that  outlandish  stuff;  neither  melody 
nor  harmony,  but  only  a  sort  of  tuning  up  and 
beginning  o'  things,  neither  marches  nor  hymns 
nor  song-tunes  nor  madrigals,  but  a  jumble  of 
pretenses?  Call  that  music?  The  Lord  preserve 
me  from  such  strumming!" 

"It  was,  of  a  truth,  strange  music,"  said 
Mary. 

"And  you'd  had  enough,  I'll  warrant  me;  and 
so  you  and  Mistress  Mompesson  went  to  walk, 
and  very  shrewd  it  was.  Why,  'All  in  a  Gar- 
den Green,'  and  'Stand  to  it,  Pikemen,'  that 
Mistress  Mompesson  played  to  us,  was  heavenly 
music  compared  with  such  fiddle-faddle ;  and  I 
wish  I  had  urged  her  more  than  I  did  to  sing, 
for  she  hath  a  voice  like  the  dropping  of  the 
waters  at  the  Holy  Well,  and  I  will  not  be  gain- 
said when  next  she  doth  favor  us  with  her  com- 
pany. 'Tis  a  right,  gentle,  well-bred  lady, 
worthy  of  a  better  match  than  a  mere  clerk  in 
orders. ' ' 

"Oh,  but  she  is  very  happj^,  father;  and  he  is 
something  more  than  a  mere  clerk  in  orders. 
'Tis  no  small  distinction  to  be  rector  of  Eyam, 
and  a  man  of  infinite  learning." 

"Very  well,  my  love,  very  well,"  said  Sir 
George.  "Thou  knowest  I  have  only  the  best 
opinion  of  the  rector  and  his  amiable  lady.  It 
is  the  .stranger  who  has  put  me  out,  belike ;    for 


THE  DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS  133 

never  did  good  wine  leas  agree  with  me,  or  fine 
tobacco  so  little  soothe  my  spirits." 

"Nay,  I  am  sorry,"  said  Mary,  "but  Mistress 
Mompesson  considered  that  our  guest  was  a 
scholar,  and  had  the  gift  of  tongues ;  she  noted 
naught  in  his  conversation  but  what  was  of  true 
respect.  It  is  the  way  with  men  of  his  nation, 
they  say,  to  be  enthusiastic,  warm  in  their  admi- 
ration ;  they  call  Italy  the  land  of  poetry  and 
song. ' ' 

"Then,  damme,  I  am  glad  to  belong  to  a  land 
of  commonsense;  and  land  of  men— not  mon- 
keys. Why,  foregad,  he  chattered  like  a  mag- 
pie." 

The  truth  is  there  was  a  certain  impulse  of 
jealousy  in  Sir  George's  feelings  against  Ziletto. 
The  Italian  had  proved  himself  the  best  man  at 
the  table.  He  not  only  drank  his  wine  with  the 
air  of  one  accustomed  to  the  best,  but  with  a 
capacity  that  even  Sir  George  envied.  At  the 
same  time  his  guest  had  talked  better  than  any 
one,  and  to  the  undisguised  delight  of  his  daugh- 
ter and  Mrs.  Mompesson.  He  had  outshone  both 
Clegg  and  the  clergyman.  He  was  posted  in 
every  subject  they  mentioned.  Neither  Sir 
George  nor  Mr.  Clegg  could  mount  one  of  their 
hobbies,  not  a  single  one.  Sir  George  felt  that 
if  he  had  dared  to  bestride  his  easiest  one,  the 
stranger  would  have  unhorsed  him.  "He  is  the 
•/ery  devil,"  Sir  George  had  grumbled  to  him- 
self as  he  passed  the  bottle.  And  Mompesson 
had  encouraged  "the  beggar."  That  annoyed 
Sir   George,    and   also  troubled   Clegg.     Mom- 


134      THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

peason  had  said  that  travelers  were  the  only 
scholars,  travel  the  only  knowledge;  and  Ziletto 
had  done  his  best  to  justify  the  clergyman's 
opinion.  Moreover,  Ziletto  had  no  sooner  sat 
down  than  he  felt  by  instinct  that  he  had  a  rival 
in  Mr.  Reuben  Clegg,  the  village  solon,  the 
clown,  the  man  whom  he  would  make  it  his 
business,  if  opportunity  should  occur,  to  place  in 
a  ridiculous  position.  Nobody  knew  better  than 
Ziletto  how  poor  a  creature  a  man  looked  in  a 
woman's  eyes  if  he  should  appear  ridiculous. 
Clegg  was  wary,  as  well  as  depressed ;  his  was 
the  waiting  game.  But  there  are  men  who  wait 
too  long  on  fortune  and  let  her  favors  slip ;  lovers 
too  modest  for  the  winning  of  women's  favors; 
it  is  the  bold  wooer  who  succeeds.  Once  or 
twice  during  the  dinner-talk  Ziletto  had  caught 
Mary's  eye  in  close  observation  of  him  and  with 
an  undisguised  admiration  that  had  prompted  a 
significant  response.  There  may  be  a  world  of 
meaning  in  a  look.  For  Mary  there  was  a 
strange  mysterious  charm  in  the  glance  of  the 
Italian  at  the  moment  when  she  had  been  most 
absorbed  in  his  conv^ersation.  It  was  a  story  of 
adventure  with  banditti  in  Spain  which  had 
most  interested  Mary,  and  at  the  point  when  the 
hero  was  most  in  peril  she  uttered  an  uncon- 
scious sigh  of  alarm,  which  was  a  confession  of 
both  admiration  and  pity.  Then  it  was  that 
Ziletto  had  glanced  at  her,  and  she  had  blushed; 
and  it  was  that  look  and  that  blush  that  had  fired 
Sir  George.  Both  had  also  been  observed  by 
Reuben  Clegg,  and  while  the  passing  incident 


THE  DAGGER  AND   THE  CROSS  135 

had  set  Sir  George  talking  and  for  the  first  time 
contesting  Ziletto's  conclusions,  and  had  fired 
him  into  relating  an  experience  of  his  own,  their 
effect  upon  Clegg  was  to  silence  him  almost  to 
the  verge  of  moroseness. 

It  was  at  that  moment  that  the  full  ripe  seed 
of  hatred  of  the  Italian  fell  plump  into  Clegg' s 
receptive  heart.  He  did  not  know  at  what  exact 
moment  it  had  found  its  way  there ;  but  it  was 
sown  in  the  glance  Ziletto  gave  to  Mary  Talbot 
in  response  to  her  strangely  sympathetic  exclama- 
tion, a  glance  that  seemed  to  have  a  message  in 
it,  and  a  message  that  she  accepted. 

And  so  the  seed  of  a  deadly  hate  fell  into  the 
soul  of  Reuben  Clegg;  and  not  as  a  consequence 
thereof,  but  by  way  of  fulfillment  of  the  proverb 
that  misfortmies  never  come  singly,  there  began 
to  gather  clouds  that  eventually  overshadowed 
the  mountain  paradise  of  Eyam. 


CHAPTER  SEVENTEEN 
"woman's  at  best  a  contradiction  still" 

At  an  unusually  early  hour  next  day  Mary 
Talbot,  looking  a  little  less  rosy  than  usual,  called 
upon  Mrs.  Mompesson. 

The  rectory  was  a  pleasant  house.  It  was  of 
the  Tudor  order,  built  of  stone  and  neatly 
thatched.  Mary  passed  in  at  the  open  door, 
along  a  whitened  passage,  a  great  oak  dower 


136      THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

chest  standing  between  the  entrances  to  the  din- 
ing-room i\ud  parlor  on  one  side  of  the  hall. 
Facing  tlic.-e  apartments  was  the  rector's  study; 
and  at  the  back,  through  the  way  to  the  kitchen, 
you  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  garden  and  gen- 
erally heard  the  sound  of  children's  voices. 

Mrs.  Mompesson  was  very  proud  of  her  two 
little  ones ;  so  proud  that  old  Dame  Fearset,  who 
hourl}'  looked  forward  to  her  heavenly  reward 
with  the  saints,  hoped  the  rector's  lady  might 
not  be  called  to  a  judgment  for  loving  them  un- 
duly. The  children  romped  into  the  house  to 
greet  Mary,  who  brought  some  harmless  sweet- 
meats in  her  reticule  for  them,  and  they  kissed 
her  heartily.  They  loved  Mary,  as  did  every- 
body in  the  village,  not  to  mention  every  dog 
and  cat. 

Mrs.  Mompesson,  with  a  large  white  apron 
enfolding  her  neat  figure,  was  busy  with  her 
household  duties,  and  Mary,  laying  aside  her 
hat,  if  she  did  not  take  a  share  in  her  friend's 
domestic  labors,  walked  about  the  house  and 
chatted  while  the  work  was  progressing.  After 
a  little  while  the  conversation  became  concen- 
trated upon  the  chief  guest  of  the  previous  day 
at  the  Manor  House.  Mary  was  anxious  to 
know  what  the  final  impression  of  the  Mom- 
pessous  might  be  concerning  Ziletto.  She  hoped 
it  might  neutralize  that  of  her  father,  and  at  the 
same  time  support  her  own. 

"I  think  he  is  a  fine  gentleman,"  said  Mrs. 
Mompesson,  "handsome,  and  of  an  infinite  va- 
riety of  knowledge. ' ' 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  137 

"I  am  glad  you  do  not  think  him  a  mounte- 
bank, or  a  monkey,  or  worse,"  said  Mary,  with 
a  smile;  "but  you  know  how  Sir  George  is  apt 
to  o^rerstep  his  meaning  when  he  desires  to  be 
emphatic." 

"Poor  dear  Sir  George !"  said  Mrs.  Mompesson 
"He  does  not  like  foreigners,  and  perhaps  he 
thought  my  husband  was  too  well  pleased  with 
Signor  Ziletto." 

"Mr.  Mompesson  approved  of  him?"  said 
Mary,  with  an  assumption  of  carelessness. 

"I  think  he  is  quite  attached  to  him;  bat 
William  has  found  Eyam  rather  bigoted — 1  am 
sorry  to  say  so — and  proportionately  ignorant; 
and  the  Stanley  faction  and  the  relaxation  oi 
church  discipline  have  lowered  his  mental  ac- 
tivity. This  stranger  has  seemed  to  him  Uke 
a  messenger  from  afar,  with  news  of  the  great 
world ;  and  one  great  thing  he  finds  to  commend 
in  the  Italian  is  that  he  is  tolerant ;  though  e^d- 
dently  at  heart  a  Papist,  he  does  not  regard  the 
future  of  any  other  Church  as  hopeless.  He 
evaded  theological  controversy  as  much  as  pos- 
sible, and  he  was  certainly  enchanting  as  a  mere 
conversationalist.  There  appears  to  be  no  finality 
to  his  accomplishments. ' ' 

And  then  Mary  changed  the  subject,  fearing 
that  she  might  say  more  than  was  discreet.  .  .  . 
For  now  she  knew  that  she  had  two  great  secrets 
to  guard;  the  knowledge  of  Reuben  Clogg's  love 
for  her,  and  her  own  love  for  this  stranger,  of 
whom  she  knew  nothing,  and  who  had  succeeded 
in  exciting  the  hostility  of  her  father.     It  was 


138      THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

all  so  sudden,  too ;  first,  the  shock  of  Mrs.  Clegg's 
appeal,  second,  the  confession  of  her  own  heart 
— a  secret  that  as  yet  she  hardly  understood.  If 
it  was  love,  as  indeed  she  believed  it  to  be,  it 
was  a  curious  self-consciousness,  a  shrinking 
from  the  object  of  her  unexplainable  adoration, 
and  at  the  same  time  a  desire  to  see  the  stranger 
continually  and  to  talk  of  him.  She  had  never 
hitherto  been  fastidious  about  her  dress ;  but  her 
toilet  had  now  become  a  matter  of  supreme  im- 
portance. 

Margaret  Dobbs,  who  had  been  her  nurse  and 
maid,  her  companion  and  housekeeper,  and  in 
many  ways  a  mother  to  her,  noted  the  change 
that  had  come  over  her,  and  in  a  day  or  two 
half-suspected  the  cause;  but  Mary,  as  soon  as 
she  had  herself  discovered  her  own  secret,  set 
about  protecting  it  and  watching  over  it.  Had 
her  father  taken  to  the  stranger,  she  might  in 
time  have  confessed  the  deep  interest  she  felt  in 
him;  but  Sir  George  had  an  instinctive  feeling 
that  Ziletto  had  made  a  powerful  impression 
upon  his  daughter,  and  he  took  every  opportu- 
nity to  disparage  him  and  to  wonder  when  the 
village  would  be  free  of  him;  and  so  Mary 
affected  to  no  longer  find  any  special  interest 
in  him,  either  as  scholar  or  musician. 

But  Ziletto  knew  where  she  walked  and  when, 
and  Mary  took  pains  to  go  out  only  when  her 
father  went  riding  or  had  business  with  Clegg, 
or  would,  as  he  did  occasionally,  find  that  duty 
or  friendship  called  him  away  to  Calver  or  Bake- 
well,  or  to  Chatsworth ;  and  Ziletto  was  contin 


THE  DAGGER  AND   THE  CROSS  139 

ually  on  the  watch  for  the  girl,  who  would  some- 
times go  forth  ostentatiously^  on  a  pretended  visit 
to  the  rectory  or  to  see  Mrs.  Clegg,  so  as  to  con- 
tent her  woman  Dobbs.  At  other  times  she 
would  steal  out  without  a  word,  and  she  invari- 
ably met  the  stranger. 

If  the  stranger  could  so  arrange  it,  he  brought 
about  the  meeting  where  they  could  be  least  ob- 
served. At  first  he  only  walked  a  little  way 
with  her,  and,  being  encountered  by  any  of  the 
villagers,  would  doff  his  hat  and  continue  his 
course  in  an  opposite  direction  from  that  of 
Mary,  taking  his  leave  in  a  ceremonious  fashion, 
and,  if  possible,  entering  into  conversation  with 
the  villagers  v/ho  had  interrupted  their  tete-a- 
tete. 

After  a  time  he  and  Mary  met  in  some  by- 
way outside  the  village.  There  were  many  con- 
venient lanes  and  meadow  footpaths,  and  in 
Middleton  Dale  there  were  romantic  retreats, 
and  nooks  and  corners,  that  could  be  reached 
frqm  opposite  directions.  Mary,  in  the  most 
accidental  way,  found  her  steps  wandering  in 
these  paths,  and  encouraged  herself  to  be  sur- 
prised; agreeably  surprised,  nevertheless,  when 
she  met  Giovanni  Ziletto.  She  was,  further- 
more, encouraged  to  indulge  in  these  stolen  in- 
terviews by  the  most  respectful  propriety  with 
which  the  Italian  treated  her.  He  said  nothing 
of  love,  if  he  looked  it  the  more.  He  talked  of 
Italy  and  his  house  in  Florence,  of  the  beauties 
of  the  City  of  the  Sea,  the  pageantry  on  the 
Grand  Canal,  and  the  delights  of  travel. 


140      THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

Once,  when  Sir  George  was  out,  Ziletto  had 
boldly  walked  up  to  the  Manor  House  gates  Avith 
Mary,  and  meeting  there  Mrs.  Margaret  Dobbs, 
that  dear  old  slave  of  the  family  had  taken  upon 
herself  to  invite  the  stranger  in  to  see  the  gar- 
den, since  she  had  heard  him  say  he  was  fond 
of  flowers,  and,  in  an  impulsive  moment,  Mary 
had  introduced  him  to  the  secret  of  My  Lady's 
Bower.  Ever  afterward  it  had  been  a  leading 
motive  of  his  intrigue  to  make  that  retreat  the 
scene  of  at  least  an  occasional  rendezvous  with 
the  girl.  There  was  a  private  and  rarely  used 
gateway  from  the  meadow  and  orchard  beyond 
the  kitchen  garden  that  could  be  used  for  this 
purpose ;  it  gave  upon  a  footpath  into  a  by-way 
of  Middleton  Dale. 

One  day,  Reuben  Clegg,  walking  home  from 
the  Winship  Mine  to  think  out  some  new  problem 
of  his  work,  had  come  upon  Mary  and  Giovanni 
Ziletto,  at  a  bend  of  the  highway  where  it  gave 
upon  a  secluded  lane.  Ziletto  had  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  villager,  and  before  Mary  under- 
stood his  meaning  had  said,  "And  now,  Miss 
Talbot,  I  have  the  honor  to  take  my  leave. ' ' 

But  the  next  moment  she  saw  Mr.  Clegg,  and 
understood.  Ziletto  turned  the  way  Reuben  was 
coming,  gave  him  a  formal  bow,  and  passed  on, 
Reuben  stiffly  acknowledging  the  salute. 

"I  wish  you  a  good-day,  Miss  Talbot,"  said 
Reuben,  a  little  awkwardly,  to  Mary;  "hope  you 
find  yourself  in  good  health." 

"Yes,  thank  you,  Mr.  Clegg,"  she  replied. 

"I  ought  to  apologize  for  my  appearance»" 


THE  DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS  141 

"And  "wherefore?"  Mary  replied,  with  a  Httle 
flush  of  confusion.  She  had  mistaken  Clegg's 
meaning. 

"My  mining  doublet,  my  muddy  boots,"  said 
Clegg.  ' '  I  am  not  used  to  walk  home ;  generally 
ride;  but  I  find  I  can  think  best  afoot." 

"Indeed!"  said  Mary. 

' '  I  detain  you, ' '  said  Clegg.  ' '  You  were  going 
toward  Cucklett;  it  is  a  pretty  walk." 

"No,  I  was  returning  home,"  she  said;  her 
conscience  smiting  her  for  an  unnecessary  lie. 
She  had  never  lied  nor  blushed  nor  temporized 
with  truth,  in  thought  or  word,  before  Ziletto 
came  to  Eyam. 

"I  dare  not  offer  to  walk  by  you;  I  should 
shame  you,"  said  Reuben,  rubbing  some  of  the 
mud  from  his  boots  among  the  weeds  and  nettles 
that  bordered  the  edge  of  the  roadway. 

"You  shame  yourself  with  so  poor  an  excuse," 
said  Mary ;  and  the  two  walked  along  the  road 
together. 

Reuben,  chafing  at  sight  of  the  Italian  in 
Mary's  company,  and  believing  that  Ziletto  had 
intended  to  walk  with  her  along  the  lane  to 
Cucklett,  was  more  constrained  in  his  conversa- 
tion than  usual,  though  he  would  have  thawed 
with  encouragement.  But  Mary  was  afraid  of 
him  now.  She  did  not  know  at  what  moment 
he  might  break  out  into  a  declaration  of  his  love 
for  her.  So  she  drew  herself  together,  tightened 
her  lips,  and  walked  with  an  almost  feverish 
rapidity.  Reuben  made  commonplace  remarks, 
and  she  rephed. 


142  THE   DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS 

Between  the  stray  sentences  Clegg  devoured 
her  with  his  eyes,  and  wondered  why  he  had  not 
the  courage  to  speak  to  her  of  what  he  felt. 
Then,  the  next  moment,  he  knew  why  he  had 
not  the  courage;  he  was  not  brave  enough  to 
face  her  confession  that  she  had  no  love  to  offer 
in  return  for  his  own. 

Just  as  the  road  dropped  toward  the  village, 
Reuben  saw  Ziletto  waiting  at  a  secluded  path 
which  was  the  nearest  way  to  the  Manor  House. 
Remarking  that  she  was  now  in  sight  of  home, 
he  bade  Miss  Talbot  good  afternoon,  thanked  her 
for  the  honor  of  her  company,  and  struck  out  in 
the  direction  of  his  own  cottage  and  with  a  sud- 
den determination  in  his  mind.  He  would  see 
Sir  George  and  enter  straightway  into  competi- 
tion with  this  wretched  foreigner  for  the  hand  of 
his  daughter.  It  might  not  have  occurred  to  Sir 
George  or  to  any  other  person  that  Ziletto  was  in 
pursuit  of  his  daughter,  honorably  or  dishonor- 
ably ;  the  idea  that  it  was  possible  for  the  stran- 
ger to  win  even  a  smile  from  her  except  in  the 
way  of  honorable  love  did  not  dwell  with  Clegg 
for  a  moment ;  yet  it  flashed  through  his  mind 
that  with  this  kind  of  runagate,  this  beplumed, 
dandified  mandolinist,  this  braggart  of  his  prow- 
ess, this  fable  maker,  this  mountebank  modeler, 
sculptor,  courtier,  student,  or  whatever  the  devil 
he  might  call  himself — that  in  the  constitution  of 
such  a  creature  reverence  for  woman,  respect 
for  innocence  and  beauty  would  have  no  place. 
At  the  same  time  Clegg  recalled  that  there  had 
bees  such  a  sacrifice  as  a  pure  and  high-minded 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  143 

English  girl  giving  lierself  away  to  a  foreigner 
of  distinction  so-called ;  and  he  reflected  that  this 
man  brought  with  him  a  certain  glamour  of  royal 
association — true  or  false,  who  was  to  say? — 
moreover  he  had  the  kind  of  tongue  and  the 
puny  grace  of  crooking  an  elbow  according  to 
rule  when  he  lifted  his  hat,  and  had  a  manner  of 
bowing  ceremoniously,  that  might  take  the  fancy 
of  a  feather-brain  stay-at-home  girl ;  but  surely 
not  a  young  woman  of  commonsense  like  Mary 
Talbot,  proud  of  her  birth,  devoted  to  her  father, 
the  ideal  of  all  that  was  good  and  sweet  and 
bright  in  woman !  He  would  ask  her  father's 
permission  to  pay  court  to  her,  to  win  her  before 
he  laid  bare  his  heart  to  her;  he  would  enter 
the  lists  against  this  decked-out  foreigner,  and 
drift  no  further  into  settled  misery  and  disap- 
pointment without  giving  Fate  the  chance  to  be 
good  to  him  or  to  desert  him  quite. 

Meanwhile,  Ziletto  had  himself  half  resolved 
to  beard  Sir  George,  for  he  had  seen  enough  of 
the  English  girl  to  know  that  all  his  arts  could 
make  no  light-o'-love  of  Mary  Talbot.  What 
she  called  her  love  was  only  to  be  secured  by 
marriage,  and  already  he  had  a  scheme  to  over- 
come her  scruples  in  case  he  asked  her  hand  from 
Sir  George  to  be  refused,  or  in  case  he  did  not 
deem  it  wise  to  take  the  risk  of  such  a  step. 

It  was  not  Ziletto' 8  game  to  marry,  nor  ever 
had  been ;  though  his  infatuation  for  Mary  Tal- 
bot, whose  beauty  was  so  unusual  in  his  eyes, 
whose  voice  and  figure  and  unsophisticated  ways 
were  so  fascinating,  was  such  that  he  would  have 


144  THE   DAGfiER   AND   THE   CROSS 

been  willing  to  undergo  any  sacrifice  to  win  her. 
It  would  have  been  all  the  same  to  Ziletto,  mar- 
riage or  otherwise,  when  the  day  of  satiety  came, 
or  his  fancy  should  be  attracted  elsewhere. 

He  had  left  Roubillac  and  Francesca  in  peace. 
Francesca,  relieved  of  his  presence — his  magnet- 
ism, or  whatever  it  was — her  mind  and  body 
stimulated  by  the  fine  mountain  air  of  these 
Northern  uplands,  had,  she  thanked  Heaven, 
grown  out  of  the  check  of  what  she  conceived 
to  be  his  magic,  his  evil  eye,  his  unholy 
charm. 

With  a  boldness  that  had  at  first  amazed  Rou- 
billac, and  had  then  captured  his  confidence,  Zi- 
letto had  forced  himself  upon  the  painter's  atten- 
tion. He  had  expressed  his  regret  for  what  had 
transpired  in  the  past,  and  had  vowed  never  again 
to  use  his  arts,  whatever  they  might  be,  to  dis- 
turb either  Francesca  or  himself;  assured  him 
that  his  presence  there  was  accidental,  and  ap- 
pealed to  Roubillac  as  an  Italian  to  maintain  at 
least  an  appearance  of  friendship  before  the  En- 
glish people ;  if  they  had  misunderstandings  or 
affronts  to  avenge,  to  let  them  wait  a  fitting  op- 
portunity when  they  should  all  return  to  their 
own  country, 

"As  for  your  wife,  comrade,"  he  said,  "it  was 
your  Angel  of  the  Ascension  at  Verona  that 
tempted  me;  and,  after  all,  I  did  but  frighten 
her,  as  some  ogre  might.  Nay,  believe  me ;  and 
in  the  future  it  shall  be  my  chiefest  aim  to  have 
her  hate  me." 

Roubillac  had  listened  patiently,  repressing  the. 


THE    DAGGER   AND   THE    CROSS  145 

anger  with  which  he  contemplated  the  airiness 
of  the  gallant  who  did  not  fail  to  suggest,  with 
all  his  proffered  friendship,  that  if  it  were  his 
will  to  do  so  he  could  still  captivate  the  woman 
who  was  not  onl^^  Roubillac's  wife,  but,  of  all 
things  in  the  world,  the  one  he  most  loved,  to 
lose  whom  would  be  to  fill  his  soul  with  everlast- 
ing darkness.  Roubillac,  in  his  heart,  hated  Zi- 
letto  for  this,  although  he  affected  to  feel,  and 
to  some  extent  did  feel,  that  it  was  kind  of  this 
man,  to  whom  Nature  had  been  so  bountiful  of 
physical  and  mental  gifts,  to  swear  at  least  a 
truce  as  regarded  his  pursuit  of  Francesca.  It 
was  a  strange  situation,  and,  viewed  by  a  dis- 
passionate looker-on,  one  of  keen  humiliation  so 
far  as  Roubillac  was  concerned,  and  a  doubting 
of  his  wife  that  might  make  her  appear  unworthy 
of  his  love.  But  one  must  take  into  account  the 
supernatural  kind  of  power. with  which  she  had, 
by  her  confession,  invested  Ziletto. 

A  poet  in  sentiment  and  fancy,  a  dreamer,  and 
one  who  had  been  trained  from  his  j^outh  in  all 
the  superstitions  of  his  church,  Roubillac  easily 
fell  a  victim  to  this  belief  in  Ziletto's  mysterious 
gifts,  and  he  was  supported  in  his  credulity  by 
Father  Castelli,  who  believed  that  in  what  he 
called  these  latter  days,  before  the  second  com- 
ing of  Christ,  the  devil  was  unusually  active  and 
had  many  agencies.  The  priest  found  justifica- 
tion for  his  opinion  in  our  Saviour's  own  words 
touching  false  prophets  and  evil  spirits.  It  was 
no  new  thing  to  see  the  arch-fiend  in  a  lovely 
and  charming  shape ;  and  Father  Castelli  knew 


14(5  THE   DAOCJER   AND   THE    CROSS 

that  he  had  no  hold  upon  Ziletto,  that  the  Itahan 
reprobate  laughed  at  his  mission,  even  derided 
the  Pope,  and  was  so  variously  and  strangely- 
gifted  in  knowledge  and  accomplishments,  and 
so  defiant  in  his  sins,  that  the  priest  could  only 
account  for  his  prosperity  therein  on  the  ground 
of  Satanic  influence.  When  it  was  borne  in  upon 
him  one  day,  in  a  conversation  he  had  with  Zi- 
letto, that  Miss  Talbot,  the  young  and  beautiful 
daughter  of  the  village,  was  under  his  spell,  he 
took  counsel  with  himself  as  to  his  duty  of  warn- 
ing the  girl  and  her  father;  but  it  had  been  the 
strict  policy  of  himself  and  his  superior  not  to 
interfere  with  the  villagers  or  their  ways,  and 
seeing  that  Sir  George  himself  had  made  Ziletto 
his  guest,  and  that  Ziletto  was  outside  the  pale 
of  the  working  community  of  the  Italians  at  the 
Old  Hall,  he  had  let  the  matter  pass.  It  was, 
however,  with  deep  regret  that  he  heard  the 
committee  of  the  Well-dressings,  or  celebration 
of  Ascension,  had  accepted  Ziletto's  services  as 
the  designer  of  one  of  their  chief  decorations; 
the  more  so,  as  Roubillac  had  been  granted  a 
similar  privilege,  which  would  set  up  a  fresh 
rivalrj^  between  the  two,  and  at  the  same  time 
bring  Ziletto  into  what  might  be  called  official 
relationship  with  Miss  Talbot,  who  was  one  of 
the  principal  persons  engaged  in  the  organization 
of  the  celebration.  Eyam  had  previously  been 
in  the  habit  of  seeking  outside  assistance  on  these 
occasions,  the  artistic  work  of  the  festival  being 
regarded  as  a  thing  apart  from  whatever  relig- 
ious significance  the  occasion  might  have  in  the 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS      147 

estimation  of  the  more  serious  of  the  villagers 
and  the  few  scholars  of  the  High  Peak  Hundred. 


CHAPTER  EIGHTEEN 

MARY   TALBOT'S    MESSAGE  TO  REUBEN  CLEGG 

"I  WILL  ply  her  with  such  questions  that  she 
shall  open  her  heart  to  me  without  seeming  to  do 
so,"  said  Sir  George,  addressing  Reuben  Clegg, 
who,  with  his  beard  trimmed,  his  doublet  unus- 
ually neat,  and  his  high  boots  pulled  up  over  his 
well-formed  legs,  had  presented  himself  before 
Sir  George  almost  in  holiday  fashion.  "She  has 
much  altered  of  late,  and  is  less  communicative ; 
but  thou  knowest  the  Well-dressing  is  occup3ang 
her.  There  never  have  been  such  fine  things  as 
we  are  to  see  this  year,  Reuben." 

"I  have  surprised  you  in  what  I  have  said," 
remarked  Reuben,  his  hat  in  his  hand,  his  atti- 
tude, cross-legged  upon  one  of  Sir  George's  li- 
brary chairs,  not  altogether  elegant. 

"I  will  not  say  that  I  was  quite  prepared  for 
it,"  Sir  George  replied,  seated  at  his  large  square 
table,  as  if  he  had  been  holding  what  he  called 
his  Court  as  a  Justice  of  the  Peace.  Reuben, 
however,  looked  anything  but  a  culprit,  for  now 
that  he  had  made  his  declaration  he  was  his  own 
defiant  self  again. 

"I  know  it  is  an  act  of  presumption.  Sir 
George ;  and  yet  I  draw  my  pedigree  from  ^n 


148  THE   DAGGER   AXD    THE   CROSS 

honorable  ancestry  of  yeomen  and  squires  of 
note  among  these  hills  and  valleys." 

"My  dear  Clegg,  I  would  hold  it  honorable  to 
have  you  for  a  son-in-law ;  and  on  that  there  is 
no  more  to  be  said." 

"Thank  you,  Sir  George,  I  am  content;  I  want 
to  hear  no  more,  except  that  I  have  yoiu-  consent 
to  offer  my  hanl  to  your  daughter;  and  with  it, 
so  help  me  Heaven,  I  would  be  willing  to  give 
her  my  life,  just  as  I  would  deem  it  blessed  to 
be  her  slave." 

' '  Nay ;  damme,  Clegg,  that  is  not  what  I  would 
have — thee  or  any  man.  Have  a  wife  and  rule 
a  wife  is  m}^  motto ;  he  is  a  poor  husband  who  is 
not  master  of  his  house,  and  I  would  not  have 
Mary  mated  to  a  milk-sop." 

"I  trust,"  said  Reuben,  rising,  "I  should  know 
how  to  win  your  daughter's  respect;  at  the  same 
time.  Sir  George,  I  should  be  at  heart  her  slave, 
as  I  know  you  are.  Sir  George.  Nay, when  a  man 
loves  a  woman,  be  it  his  daughter,  his  mother,  or 
his  wife,  she  is  first  in  his  thoughts;  her  wishes 
are  his  commands.  I  love  your  daughter  Mary, 
Sir  George,  and  I  have  only  one  object  in  life, 
whether  she  bids  me  hope  or  whether  she  leaves 
me  to  despair,  and  that  is  her  happiness." 

"It  is  well  said,  Reuben  Clegg;  and  thou  art 
rignD  after  all — a  man  is  a  mere  appendage  to 
some  woman's  petticoat  all  his  life,  and  I  sus- 
pect my  daughter  would  have  a  rival  in  thy 
mother."  The  genial  knight  laughed  pleasantly 
as  he  took  Clegg's  hand,  saying  further,  "I  shall 
speak  to  my  daughter  at  once,  Clegg — at  once— 


THE  DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS  149 

and  let  tliee  know  whether  thou  wilt  be  wise  to 
go  on  with  this  thing." 

"My  mother  would  be  her  mother,  heart  and 
soul,  and  also  in  her  service,  her  woman,  an  it 
so  pleased  her,  her  help,  her  housekeeper,  as  she 
is  mine ;  and  in  all  things  her  devoted  friend, 
loving  her  with  a  mother's  devotion.  And,  Sir 
George,  I  would  say  furthermore,  since  worldly 
affairs  have  to  be  considered  when  one  asks  so 
great  a  boon  as  the  right  of  companionship  with 
so  loved  an  object,  that  I  am  rich,  as  Eyam  and 
the  Hundred  goes;  that  besides  the  sum  I  derive 
from  our  association — " 

"Our  partnership,  Clegg,"  said  Sir  George, 
"for  thou  art  part  owner  of  the  Winship  Mine." 

"Thank you.  Sir  George,"  Clegg  replied.  "But, 
as  I  was  saying,  besides  that,  I  have  other  means, 
and,  moreover,  within  the  last  few  months  have 
made  fresh  discoveries  of  ore  that  cannot  fail  to 
yield  both  honor  and  gold." 

"Thine  own  heart  is  gold  enough  for  me,  Clegg, 
if  mj^  daughter  consents." 

"Nay,  you  are  most  generous,"  said  Clegg, 
"and  I  feel  the  honor  of  it.  Come  what  come 
may.  Sir  George,  I  am  glad  I  have  made  you 
my  confidant.  At  one  time  I  thought  I  should 
carry  my  wild  ambition  to  my  grave  unconfessed. 
I  think  I  came  to  you  now  despairing;  but  I  shall 
forever  treasure  your  friendly  words." 

"Reuben,"  said  the  knight,  "you  and  I  will 
always  be  good  friends.  Come  to  me  in  an  hour, 
and  I  will  advise  you  on  the  course  you  should 
take  with  regard  to  my  daughter." 


160  THE  DAGGER  AND  THE   CROSS 

In  an  hour  Reuben  returned.  He  found  Sir 
George  in  the  library,  sitting  in  the  same  chair, 
and  ready  to  receive  him  once  more,  as  if  the 
question  at  issue  was  one  of  magisterial  juris- 
diction. 

When  one  speaks  of  a  library  of  those  days,  it 
is  to  recall  a  room  adapted  rather  to  the  stor- 
ing of  a  few  well-bound  books  than  to  their  pres- 
ence in  large  numbers.  There  was  a  single  book- 
case against  the  wall  by  Sir  George's  chair.  The 
shelves  were  not  filled.  The  entire  collection  con- 
sisted of  some  twenty  or  thirty  volumes.  Upon 
his  large  oak  table,  which  was  covered  with  a 
purple  cloth  embroidered  down  the  sides  and  fast- 
ened at  the  corners  with  bands  of  braid,  there 
was  a  large  inkstand  of  carved  wood,  a  pounce- 
box,  and  an  open  volume  of  legal  practice  by  the 
side  of  a  calf -bound  Bible.  The  walls  were  pan- 
eled to  the  ceiUng,  which  carried  an  oaken  design 
of  geometric  character.  There  were  a  few  carved 
oak  chairs,  with  leather  seats,  and  one  or  two 
wolf -skins  upon  a  rough  oak  floor.  The  bay  win- 
dows, with  small  square  panes  and  lattices,  looked 
out  upon  the  courtyard. 

"Be  seated,  Reuben,  my  friend,"  said  Sir 
George,  in  an  almost  judicial  manner. 

Reuben  preferred  to  stand.  There  was  some- 
thing in  Sir  George's  voice  and  manner  that  told 
him  he  was  in  for  an  adverse  verdict,  and  he 
preferred  to  hear  it  on  his  feet. 

"I  have  not  told  my  daughter  what  you  have 
said,  but  I  have  rather  expressed  my  own  wishes. " 

"Yes,  Sir  George," 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  151 

"My  own  wishes,"  went  on  the  knight,  nib- 
bing a  pen  as  he  spoke  and  looking  down  upon  a 
blank  sheet  of  paper.  ' '  I  have  said  that  nothing 
could  give  me  greater  satisfaction  than  to  know 
that  if  I  were  called  away  she  would  have  a 
friend  and  protector  in  a  true  man  with  the 
rights  of  a  husband." 

"Yes,  Sir  George." 

"I  told  her  I  had  reason  to  believe  I  knew  such 
a  man :  that  of  a  surety  I  knew  him  to  be  honor- 
able, of  a  reputable  ancestry,  a  man  of  means 
sufficient  without  her  own  patrimony  to  main- 
tain her  in  good  state;  and,  above  all,  a  man 
who  loved  her  and  was  devoted  to  her  best  in- 
terests. ' ' 

"Yes,  Sir  George;  it  was  most  kind  to  say  so. 
I  am  mightily  beholden  to  you,  Sir  George,"  said 
Reuben,  his  face  flushed  with  excitement. 

"She  asked  me  if  she  knew  him,  and  I  replied, 
of  course  she  did :  and  then  I  beat  about  the  bush 
no  further,  but  told  her  out  straight  that  you 
were  the  man,  and  that  you  had  my  full  per- 
mission to  speak  to  her  and  my  best  wishes  for 
your  success. ' ' 

"Thank  you,  Sir  George.     And  she  said?" 

"Ah,  now  comes  the  trouble,  Reuben.  She 
would  say  neither  one  thing  nor  the  other — not 
a  Yes  nor  a  No:  but  only,  'Does  Mr.  Clegg  wish 
to  be  my  friend?'  'Why,  of  course  he  does,'  I 
said,  'and  the  best  of  all  friends;  the  man  to 
stand  by  your  side  through  life  and  prove  it 
against  all  comers.'  " 

"Yes,  Sir  George?"  said  Reuben,  with  a  great 


152      THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

note  of  interrogation  in  his  voice,  his  heart  beat- 
ing fearfully,  for  he  almost  knew  what  was  com- 
ing. 

"  'Then  tell  him,'  she  said,  'never  to  speak  of 
this  to  me;  never  to  ask  me  to  be  his  wife,  never 
to  discourse  of  love  to  me,  but  to  let  me  be  his 
friend,  as  I  have  been  ever  since  I  could  discern 
the  meaning  of  friendship — and  oh,'  she  said, 
'tell  him  this  in  such  a  way  that  it  shall  not  seem 
as  if  I  had  refused  him,  which,  indeed,'  she  said, 
'  I  do  not  in  words :  but  let  him  not  think  of  me 
in  that  way,  but  only  as  his  friend — as  our  friend. ' 
And,  by  gad,  Reuben,  she  talked  like  a  woman ; 
no  longer  the  little  girl  I  had  thought  her,  no 
longer  our  belle  of  the  village,  our  dimpled  maiden 
of  the  fetes,  our  madcap,  or  merry  companion, 
but  a  woman,  mark  you — a  woman  with  convic- 
tions and  knowledge!  And  there  we  are,  my 
friend ;  not  exactly  at  the  end  of  the  lane,  but 
far  from  any  sight  of  its  turning, ' ' 

"Which  means,"  said  Reuben,  straightening 
himself  up,  his  face  no  longer  flushed,  his  man- 
ner no  longer  excitable,  but  with  a  resigned  air, 
"which  means  that  she  rejects  me." 

"Nay;  but,  Reuben—"  said  Sir  George. 

"Pardon  me,  Sir  George;  in  mj'  heart  I  ex- 
pected nothing  else ;  but  when  you  have  followed 
a  false  lead  it  is  well  to  be  satisfied,  to  dig  out 
the  last  bit  of  the  shale  and  know  the  worst. 
And  it  is  like  Miss  Talbot  to  make  it  easy  for 
me,  sparing  me  the  unhappy  word  from  her  own 
lips,  and  the  mortification  of  it.  Well,  so  be  it; 
it  cannot  be  said  at  some  future  day  that  I  did 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  153 

not  brave  my  fate,  that  I  did  not  meet  it  half- 
way and  challenge  it ;  and  it  shall  not  be  said 
that  I  did  not  bear  it  like  a  man.  Good-by,  Sir 
George,  and  thank  you.  We  will  still  make  the 
AVinship  Mine  a  very  noble  inheritance." 


CHAPTER  NINETEEN 

RIVALS,     AND     THE     DAGGER 

And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  Reuben  Clegg, 
the  man  who  loved  her  with  all  his  great  manly 
heart,  drew  more  apart  from  the  village,  and 
became  more  of  a  skeptic  than  ever  touching  re- 
vealed religion,  and  something  of  a  misanthrope. 
It  was  not  alone  disappointed  love  that  gave  an 
added  emphasis  to  his  unbelief,  but  he  was  a 
thinker  and  lived  much  with  Nature,  which 
Mompesson,  and  even  Stanley,  agreed  should 
have  brought  him  well  within  the  fold — and 
with  such  a  pure-minded  and  religious  mother. 
But  Reuben  had  a  logical  mind,  and  an  intellect- 
ual capacity  of  introspection.  In  giving  his  mind 
perfect  freedom,  he  found  that  it  threw  off  the 
trammels  of  doctrine  and  Biblical  tradition,  and 
that  the  range  of  his  appreciation  of  the  Giver  of 
all  gifts,  the  first  great  cause,  the  spirit  of  crea- 
tion, was  thus  made  infinite.  What  was,  how- 
ever, far  more  a  motive  power  of  late  in  this  dis- 
covery, was  the  preference  which  Mary  Talbot 
showed  for  the  society  of  Giovanni  Ziletto,  who, 


154  THE   DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS 

despite  all  the  diplomatic  arts  of  Sir  George  Tal- 
bot, was  gradually  becoming  the  chief  personage 
in  the  village — the  man  most  considered  by  all, 
and  the  man  who,  Reuben  felt,  was  unworthy  of 
the  friendship  of  the  very  humblest  in  the  com- 
munity. This  was  jealousy,  of  course ;  but  Reu- 
ben respected  Mary  Talbot  too  much  to  mention 
his  doubts  and  fears  in  this  direction  to  Sir  George, 
and  he  took  all  possible  opportunity  to  avoid  the 
Italian. 

One  evening,  however,  meeting  Giovanni  in 
the  narrow  path  that  led  from  Middleton  Dale 
into  the  further  end  of  the  village  street,  the  devil 
in  Reuben's  nature  tempted  him  to  take  that  side 
of  the  path  which  the  Italian  had  evidently  se- 
lected. 

Giovanni  was  fresh  from  a  stolen  interview 
with  Mary,  and  there  was,  if  not  in  his  face  and 
manner,  a  sense  of  exultation  tingling  in  his  blood 
as  he  came  upon  his  rival. 

Reuben  strode  on  and  kept  that  side  of  the 
path  which  Ziletto  had  held,  and,  without  even 
the  compromise  of  a  "By  your  leave"  or  "I  beg 
your  pardon,"  jostled  the  Italian  aside.  It  was 
not  a  blow,  but  to  all  intents  and  purposes  no  less 
insulting. 

The  Italian  turned  with  an  angry  exclamation, 
and,  drawing  his  dagger,  rushed  upon  Reuben, 
who  stepped  back  a  pace,  and,  bending  his  body 
so  that  the  Italian  reaching  him  would  lose  force, 
caught  his  assailant  by  both  wrists,  his  face  close 
to  Ziletto's.  The  next  moment  the  Italian's  grip 
of  the  dagger  relaxed,  and,  as  Reuben  tripped 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  166 

him  neatly  with  his  right  foot,  it  fell  upon  the 
ground,  and  the  Italian  went  sprawling  into  the 
hedge  on  the  other  side  of  the  pathway. 

Reuben  picked  up  the  dagger,  a  long,  vicious, 
shining  blade,  with  a  jeweled  handle,  and  the 
Italian  scrambled  to  his  feet. 

"Coward!"  said  the  Englishman.  "And  is 
this  the  weapon  you  use  without  word  of  warn- 
ing? Well,  take  it,"  and  he  flung  it  at  him,  the 
Italian  catching  it  deftly.  ' '  I  have  a  knife,  too, ' ' 
tapping  the  sheath  of  a  stiff,  powerful  kind  of 
blade,  of  a  kind  that  nearly  every  man  carried, 
but  more  for  utility  than  offense — a  pruning  knife, 
a  bread  cutter,  a  forester's  and  farmer's  compan- 
ion, "and  I'll  meet  thee  where  thou  shalt  appoint, 
and  make  shift  to  take  a  lesson  in  so  mean  a 
fence,  and  better  the  instruction,  may  be;  an'  if 
I  fail,  why,  then  the  score  shall  count  to  thee, 
thou intriguing  mountebank!" 

Ziletto  turned  pale  with  rage  beneath  his  olive 
skin,  and  without  a  word  of  response  to  Reuben's 
challenge  again  flew  at  his  throat  with  a  deadly 
rash,  but  as  he  flung  out  his  arm  with  murder- 
ous intent,  Reuben  caught  him  a  clip  across  the 
shins  (a  trick  one  of  his  Lancashire  miners  had 
taught  him)  that  brought  the  Italian  down  upon 
his  knees,  as  if  in  a  sudden  act  of  supplication. 

"I  would  have  rather  met  thee  fair  and  square, 
my  lad,"  said  Reuben,  "knife  to  knife,  if  'tis  the 
manner  of  thy  nation,  or  at  single-stick,  or  even 
a  bit  of  sword-play ;  bat  the  devil  take  thy  venge- 
ful ways  and  thy  ready  knife !  Say  thy  prayers, 
and  get  thee  back  to  the  inn  and  play  on  thy 


156  THE   DAGGEr:    AND   THE   CROSS     ~ 

cursed  fiddle,  and  tell  Radford  and  the  constable 
tliou'st  had  a  bout  wi'  Reuben  Clegg!" 


CHAPTER  TWENTY 

"from  thistles  grapes  and  from  lilies 
thorns" 

The  last  days  of  Easter  had  come.  Eyam 
was  preparing  for  celebrating  the  Ascension. 
Added  to  the  calendar  by  the  Council  of  Orleans, 
as  far  back  as  the  j'ear  511,  the  festival  is  still  a 
living  event  in  the  vallej'  of  the  Derwent  and  on 
the  banks  of  her  sister  river,  the  Wye. 

Tissington,  made  famous  by  the  Howitts  and 
the  Jewitts,  carries  the  palm  in  our  time,  vainly 
competed  for  by  rival  villages  in  the  Hundreds 
of  Scarsdale  and  the  Peak,  since  Eyam,  more 
than  two  hundred  years  ago,  drew  her  widowed 
weeds  about  her  and  retired  within  herself,  a 
pathetic  mourner;  but  in  the  days  of  Marj-  Tal- 
bot and  the  strangers  at  the  Old  Hall,  Eyam 
was  queen  of  the  flowering  wells. 

Then,  as  now,  the  village  was  blessed  with  an 
abundant  supply  of  fresh  clear  water.  No  house- 
wife had  to  go  far  to  fill  her  pails,  and  the  music 
of  the  crystal  flow  was  everywhere,  mingled  in 
summer  with  the  song  of  birds  and  always  with 
the  happy  voices  of  children. 

The  glorification  of  God's  fountains  as  proper 
to  the  celebration  of  the  Ascension  seems  almost 


THE   DAGGER    AND   THE    CROSS  157 

peculiar  to  Derbyshire.  The  method  of  decora- 
tion is  chietl}^  Italian  in  its  character.  It  is 
probably  a  tradition  of  Old  Rome,  a  relic  of  the 
Pagan  tribute  to  Flora,  coming  down  to  us 
through  the  ages.  To  the  Pagan  in  due  course 
succeeded  the  Christian  formula.  This  is  com- 
mon onongh  in  religious  festivals.  Pagan,  He- 
braic, Christian  (Catholic  and  Protestant),  each 
adapting  what  was  best  in  the  other's  ceremo- 
nials; and  to-day  the  towns  and  villages  on  the 
Derwent,  the  Noe,  and  the  "Wye  dress  their  wells 
and  springs  with  flowers,  assemble  their  clergy 
and  their  choirs,  and  serve  God  with  prayer  and 
with  anthem,  filling  the  air  with  gladness  and 
with  joy. 

The  village  well-dressing  of  Derbyshire  is  no 
mere  matter  of  hanging  garlands  around  the 
springs  or  carpeting  the  way  thereto.  Each 
well  is  the  subject  of  a  special  design,  an  artistic 
effort  that  takes  architectural  form,  becomes  a 
floral  temple,  or  a  classic  vestibule  to  the  gushing 
waters. 

On  one  of  these  festival  days,  not  alone  in 
regard  to  the  beauty  of  the  designs  and  their 
superb  combinations  of  color,  but  on  account  of 
the  climate  itself,  you  might  fancy  yourself  in 
the  South  of  Europe;  for  in  this  many-sided 
country  of  ours  you  may  occasionallj"  come  upon 
such  sunshine  and  scents  of  flowers,  such  soft 
hills  of  foliage  and  verdant  valleys  that  might 
well  bo  Italian. 

What  is  not  a  little  notable  in  this  midland 
festival  of  the   Ascension  is  the  beauty  of  the 


16R  THE   DAGGfiR   AND   THE   CROSS 

decorative  work  of  the  peasantry.  Art  is  a 
native  impulse.  If  the  savages  of  the  Congo 
can  charm  the  European  eye  with  both  the  color 
and  form  of  many  of  their  native  ornaments, 
there  should  be  no  room  for  surprise  that,  catch- 
ing the  tradition  of  Rome  in  the  dressing  of  the 
wells, the  native  English  should  have  found  suffi- 
cient imagination  for  artistic  expression  in  the 
forms  around  them,  and  in  the  varied  colors  of 
the  garden,  the  meadows,  the  forest  and  the 
moorlands,  when  the  time  comes  round  to  sweep 
up  their  villages,  whitewash  their  houses,  put  up 
their  clean  blinds,  and  make  their  paths  sweet 
and  straight  for  their  annual  celebration. 

Just  as  it  was  in  the  early  days  of  the  Well- 
dressing,  so  it  is  even  now.  Less  than  thirty 
years  ago,  Mrs.  Howitt  Watts  came  upon  a  scene 
at  Tissington  that  might  have  been  a  reminis- 
ceuce  of  the  neighboring  Eyam  of  our  history 
some  hundred  and  fifty  years  before.  She  found 
there  a  young  artist  at  work  on  one  of  the  decora- 
tive emblems,  "whose  singularly  Italian  type  of 
face,  his  dark  eyes  and  brown  complexion  were 
such  as  you  might  have  expected  rather  to  have 
encountered  in  Italy  than  in  a  village  of  Central 
England."  He  may  well  have  been  descended 
from  one  of  those  same  Italian  artists  of  the  days 
of  this  present  history,  for  it  rarely  happened 
that  foreigners  were  brought  over  to  England 
for  the  practice  of  special  arts  and  industries,  but 
some  of  them  remained  to  leaven  the  native  stock 
of  stubborn  strength  with  a  strain  of  gentleness 
and  ingenuity. 


THE   DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS  159 

And  there  never  was  a  time  when  the  English, 
despite  their  prejudices,  did  not  draw,  from  all 
sources,  available  aids  to  national,  light  and  lead- 
ing, occasionally,  perhaps,  to  the  unworthy  ex- 
clusion of  native  skill.  We  have  always  been 
Uberal  in  our  welcome  of  foreign  art,  and  de- 
preciative  of  our  own.  When  Tom  KiUigrew 
talked  to  Samuel  Pepys  about  a  new  playhouse, 
to  be  built  in  Moorfields,  London,  where  opera 
was  to  be  a  feature  of  the  year's  entertainment, 
he  "did  send  for  voices,  and  painters  and  other 
persons  from  Italy."  But  in  a  general  way,  the 
original  Well- decorators  of  Derbyshire  were  vil- 
lagers, who,  with  the  same  instinct  that  one  sees 
in  even  the  most  primitive  peoples,  contrived 
pieces  of  ornamental  design  of  singular  grace, 
and  with  the  impulse  of  worship.  There  was  a 
hearty  rivalry  among  the  village  artists  in  their 
schemes  of  decoration,  but  they  all  had  a  similar 
method.  In  the  first  place,  a  wooden  frame  of 
the  shrine  to  be  erected  was  made ;  it  was  con- 
structed in  parts,  so  that  it  was  portable  and 
easy  of  treatment.  Each  section  was  covered 
with  clay,  mixed  with  salt  to  preserve  its  moist- 
ure. Upon  the  clay  the  native  artist  drew  the 
pattern  he  intended  to  fill,  and  this  he  embroid- 
ered with  flowers.  The  buds  and  blossoms, 
twigs,  leaves  and  grasses  were  pressed  into  the 
design  and  manipulated  with  a  tool,  the  result 
being  a  kind  of  mosaic,  as  rich  as  tapestry. 
Sometimes  the  designs  were  realizations  of  an 
existing  work  of  art,  but  they  were  mostly  fan- 
tcistic  efforts  at  ornamentation,  embodying  a  text 


160  THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS 

or  a  symbol,  the  effect  being  often  both  beautiful 
and  impressive. 

There  had,  however,  never  been  such  a  Well- 
dressing  as  in  the  year  of  grace  that  saw  the 
artists  of  Florence  and  the  "Bride  of  the  Adri- 
atic" at  work  in  friendly  rivalry  with  the  vil- 
lagers of  Eyam.  Moreover,  an  added  impulse 
had  been  given  to  the  success  of  the  festival  by 
the  unproclaimed  rivalry  of  Ziletto  and  Rou- 
billac.  As  a  curious  fate  would  have  it,  Roubil- 
lac  had  obtained  permission  to  decorate  "Clegg's 
Well,"  and  Ziletto  that  known  as  the  "Manor 
House  Spring." 

Roubillac  had  drawn  a  design  which,  as  an 
example  of  the  Italian  or  Cinque-Cento  style  of 
decorative  art,  was,  no  doubt,  a  masterpiece. 
To  be  in  order,  as  far  as  possible,  it  needed  the 
three  secondary  colors  in  its  flowers — orange, 
green  and  purple  It  was  a  happy  time  for 
carrjang  this  esthetic  feeling  to  a  sensitive  per- 
fection that,  in  the  leading  form  of  the  period, 
the  acanthus  scroll  or  foliated  sj^iral,  a  complete 
iris  was  almost  a  necessity.  Roubillac  had  in- 
terpreted himself  in  the  dignity  of  his  arabesque, 
and  in  that  perfection  of  the  ideal  which  the  cul- 
tured Italian  found  in  the  true  revival  of  the 
ancient  art  of  Greece  and  Rome,  achieved  during 
the  sixteenth  century  of  the  natural  style  of 
Cinque-Cento.  The  intricate  tracery  and  deli- 
cate scroll-work  of  leaf  and  flowers,  which  was 
characteristic  of  the  Renaissance,  admirably 
fitted  the  purpose  of  the  Well-dressing,  and  a|)- 
pealed  to  the  Roubillac  imagination ;  it  combined 


THE  DAGGER  AND   THE  CROSS  161 

a  certain  severity  of  treatment,  a  discipline  of 
method,  with  poetic  departures  and  new  beauties 
of  curves  and  dainty  foliations. 

As  for  color,  there  was  the  gorgeous  iris  ready 
to  his  hand — or  to  Francesca's  rather,  for  it  was 
she  who  collected  most  of  the  material  he  required 
when  the  last  day  came  for  completing  the  adorn 
ment  of  the  model,  which  was  a  shrine  that  was 
especially  Christian  in  its  sj^mbolism.  For 
orange  or  gold,  there  was  the  gorse  of  the  com- 
mon, the  marshgold  or  May-blob,  the  golden 
tresses  of  the  laburnum ;  and  for  the  purple,  the 
quaint  columbine  and  the  garden  petunia. 

Roubillac  saw  in  this  festival  of  the  Wells 
that  solemn  anniversary  recognized  by  St. 
ChrysOvStom  as  one  of  the  principal  holy  days  of 
the  Crucifixion,  the  Passion,  the  Resurrection, 
and  "the  Pentecostal  out- pouring  of  the  Holy 
Spirit."  He  and  Father  Castelli  discovered,  in 
the  subject,  matter  for  much  research  and  learned 
debate,  and  the  priest  was  able  to  quote  both  St. 
Chrysoslom  and  St.  Augustine  on  the  festival 
of  the  Ascension,  which  tliis  Well-dressing  of 
Derbyshire  had  become  and  still  remains,  "the 
illustrious  and  refulgent  day  of  the  Assumption 
of  the  Crucified,"  and,  according  to  St.  Augus- 
tine, "the  day  on  which  we  celebrate  the  Ascen- 
sion of  our  Lord  to  heaven." 

Eyam  did  not,  however,  confine  its  celebration 
to  the  mere  religious  aspect  of  the  holiday. 
After  its  sober  procession,  the  blessing  of  the 
Wells  and  a  service  in  the  church,  the  day  was 
concluded  with  feasting  and  merry-makins:,  and. 


162      THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

the  weather  permitting,  with  a  dance  upon  the 
Green;  thus  retaining  something  of  an  echo, 
however  slight,  of  the  ancient  festival  of  Pagan 
Rome,  happily  dominated  with  the  grave  and 
pure  celebrations  of  the  Church,  the  form  of 
the  service,  from  Roman  Catholicism  to  simple 
Protestantism,  making  little  or  no  difference  in 
the  character  of  the  general  ceremonial,  which 
was  denuded  only  of  some  extra  color  in  the 
matter  of  ecclesiastical  vestments,  though  the 
long  cloak,  the  white  bands,  the  black  hose  and 
buckled  shoes  did  not  militate  against  the  bright 
colors  of  the  gay  ribbons  of  the  women,  the  silks 
and  velvets  of  the  men,  and,  here  and  there,  the 
Royalist  hat  and  feathers. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  it  was  not 
the  Christian  side  of  the  festival  that  appealed  to 
the  licentious  nature  of  Giovanni  Ziletto.  He 
saw  in  it  only  a  survival  of  the  Floralia,  the 
shameless  Games  of  Flora,  at  Rome.  His  fervid 
imagination  went  back  to  the  revels  of  those 
classical  and  mythical  days,  the  real  and  im- 
aginary life  of  which,  steeped  in  lust  and  licen- 
tiousness, is  deemed  most  fitting  for  the  study 
of  English  youth,  to  be  pored  over  in  a  dead 
language  and  translated  into  our  native  tongue. 
Be  sure  Giovanni  Ziletto  had  made  the  classic 
pages  of  Greece  and  Rome  his  careful  study. 
Be  sure  there  was  no  Feast  of  Bacchus,  no 
Olympian  games,  no  celebration  of  Flora,  at 
which,  in  imagination,  he  had  not  assisted.  Be 
sure  that  such  art  as  he  had  mastered  to  give 
expression  to  this  lurid  past  would  find  inspira- 


THE  DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS  163 

tion  in  its  coarsest  aspQct.  His  Flora,  had  he 
given  rein  to  his  fancy,  would  have  been  the 
common  courtesan,  who  endowed  the  Romans 
with  such  spoil  of  her  mates  that  they  instituted 
the  infamous  feast ;  from  which,  however,  both 
Judaism  and  Christianity  managed  to  pluck  the 
flower  of  purity,  as  if  to  show  that  nothing  can 
be  all  bad  in  this  world,  and  that  the  story  of  the 
Magdalen  might  be  quoted  to  justify  the  un- 
quenchable nobility  of  the  perfect  essence  of  life 
and  the  Christian  symbolism  of  being  born  again. 

It  is  in  this  wise  that  the  Christian  succession 
to  the  celebration  of  Flora  may  be  said  to  have 
blotted  out  the  original  sin  of  it,  transforming 
the  very  name  into  a  term  of  beauty  for  Nature's 
vegetable  kingdom, 

Ziletto  was  too  subtle  an  epicurean,  too  skilled 
a  diplomatist  in  the  art  of  conciliation,  to  show 
Eyam  his  black  imagination  in  the  decoration  of 
the  Manor  House  spring.  Nevertheless,  it  was 
a  clay  model  of  Flora,  with  a  cornucopia  in  her 
arms  and  a  crown  of  flowers  upon  her  head ;  no 
mere  nude  study  in  the  daring  pose  she  occupied 
in  his  mind,  but  a  chaste  piece  worthy  of  Rou- 
billac  himself.  She  was  of  heroic  size,  leaning 
upon  an  archway  over  the  natural  spring  that 
flowed  from  a  rocky  bank  and  made  for  itself  a 
deep,  glassy  pool;  and  it  was  with  a  view  to  an 
effect  of  artistic  reflection  therein  that  Ziletto 
had  made  his  plans. 

But,  alas,  this  mere  design  of  clay  was  only 
part  of  Ziletto's  intrigue  against  Mary  Talbot 
and  the  general  peace  of  the  village ;  and  it  was 


104  THE  DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS 

on  the  eve  of  the  festival  that  he  obtained  an  ally 
in  the  execution  of  his  villainy  whose  selfish 
credulity  and  lapse  from  honor  is  only  another 
of  the  thousand  and  one  inexplicable  perversities 
and  mysteries  of  the  human  heart. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-ONE 

BY   DEVIOUS   WAYS 

Not  yet  summer,  but  all  the  world  full  of  its 
coming.  More  beautiful  than  summer  for  the 
joy  of  its  approach.  Sweeter  than  summer  for 
the  very  freshness  of  things — the  greenness  of 
the  leaves,  the  tender  tints,  and  the  luscious 
gums  of  bursting  buds.  May  is  marching  on  to 
June.  The  air  is  pulsating  with  new  life,  and 
every  bird  that  sings  welcomes  the  morning. 

On  the  village  green,  the  horse-chestnut  is 
putting  forth  its  waxy  flowers.  In  the  woods  and 
along  the  village  street  and  around  the  square 
church  tower  the  oak  and  the  elm  are  in  com- 
petition, branch  for  branch.  In  the  Manor 
House  garden,  and  in  the  meadows  beyond,  the 
mountain  ash,  the  guelder  rose,  the  laburnum, 
and  the  last  of  the  lilacs  are  full  of  strange 
whispers.  The  breath  of  the  hawthorn  and  the 
jubilant  welcome  of  the  thrush  saluted  Mary 
Talbot  as  she  opened  her  casement  and  looked 
out  upon  the  new-born  day,  ere  yet  the  sun  had 
risen   above  the   mountain   tops.     It  was  with 


THE   DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS  105 

wistful  eyes  that  she  gazed  upon  the  familiar 
scene,  which  seemed  to  have  new  and  strange 
messages  for  her.  As  her  eyes  fell  upon  her 
own  fair  hand  that  held  the  casement  open  she 
noted  upon  her  finger  the  first  ring  she  had  ever 
worn — no  plain  gold  band,  but  a  loop  of  jeweled 
gold.  She  bent  forward  and  kissed  it,  and  there 
came,  in  response  to  the  pressure  of  her  dewy 
lips,  a  thousand  rays  of  splendor.  Then  she 
sighed  and  smiled  between  her  tears.  Rival 
songsters  caroled  forth  in  answer  to  the  thrush ; 
and,  brushing  away  her  tears  of  shadowed  bliss, 
she  wrapped  her  morning-gown  about  her  fair 
young  limbs  and  stole  into  the  adjoining  room, 
where  Margaret  Dobbs  sat  up  in  bed,  her  old 
eyes  brightening  at  sight  of  her  pretty  mistress. 

"Ah,  my  dear  sweet  one,  I've  done  naught 
but  dream  o'  thee  all  the  night,  to  waken  with 
tears  and  sighs  and  ill  omens.  What  time  didst 
come  to  bed?  I  heard  thee  not.  Like  the  un- 
faithful sentinel,  I  slept  on  my  watch.  God 
forgive  me  all  my  sins!" 

"My  own  dear  Margaret,"  said  Mary,  lying 
down  by  the  side  of  the  old  woman;  "my  dear!" 
"Ah,  if  I  onl}'  loved  thee  less,  sweetheart — 
if  I  only  loved  thee  less!" 

"Why?  Wouldst  thou  have  betrayed  me, 
then?" 

"I  think  I  would,  dear  one,  I  think  I  would,'' 
the  old  woman  replied,  stroking  the  girl's  fair 
hair.  "I  fear  me,  dear  mistress,  oh,  I  fear  me 
'twin  ^Qt  ■:<;ice  c«j  good." 

*I  know  not,  dear,  but  I  think  it  will.     It  is 


1(56      THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

only  that  we  have  a  secret  that  shall  out  one  day 
in  joy,  for,  if  thou  lovest  me  so  to  smooth  the 
way,  what  shall  my  father  say  when  I  ask  his 
forgiveness?" 

"Nay,  I  know  not,  my  love;  but  my  heart  is 
sore,  and  naught  will  cure  it,  I  fear  me.  And 
yet  'tis  but  nature;  'tis  but  the  story  of  a'most 
every  love ;  and  the  sweetest  morsels  are  stolen, 
the  sweetest  kisses;  and  I'd  die  to  make  thee 
happy,  Mary — ay,  my  lass,  a  thousand  deaths; 
but  we  are  poor  weak  mortals,  we  that  are 
women,  we  that  love,  be  it  child,  or  lover,  or 
mistress,  and  thou  hast  ever  been  my  love,  and 
'tis  in  the  nature  of  things  to  spoil  that  which 
one  loveth,  sweetheart!" 

The  old  woman  took  the  girl  into  her  arms, 
and  there  she  lay  in  silence,  as  she  had  lain  many 
a  long  hour  as  infant,  child,  and  maiden;  and 
all  Margaret's  heart  beat  toward  her  as  a 
mother's,  but  without  that  acute  instinct  of  honor 
that  the  true  mother  feels  for  the  child  she  has 
brought  to  life  and  nurtured. 

"And  I  prayed  that  thy  father  would  take  to 
him,  oh,  so  often,"  crooned  the  old  woman. 
"And  why  should  he  not,  since  thou  lovest  him? 
Was  it  not  enough  that  thou  foundest  him 
worthy,  that  all  the  world  should  not  give  him 
a  character?  And  so  gentle  was  he,  so  soft- 
spoken,  so  generous!  'Twas  not  his  fault  that 
he  was  born  under  another  sun ;  love  makes  all 
the  world  kin,  and  even  the  king  has  a  foreigner 
for  wife,  they  say,  and  she  be  a  Papist  to  boot. 
But  'tis  ever  the  way,  that   love   must  run  in 


THE  DAGGER   AND   THE  CROSS  167 

torrents  and  burst  its  bounds  and  dash  over  rocks 
and  bowlders  like  a  mountain  torrent.  Methinks 
'twas  Master  Clegg  that  held  thy  father  back 
from  taking  to  him;  and  yet  we  might  have 
waited,  chuck,  just  a  httle  longer!  But  what  is 
the  good  to  say  so  now?  Nay,  sweetheart,  cheer 
thee,  it  shall  all  be  well ;  it  cannot  be  thy  father 
shall  not  listen  to  me  when  the  time  is  ripe  and 
thou  hast  him  in  a  holiday  humor,  on  a  birthday 
— thy  mother's,  perchance — or  even  after  the 
dancing  at  the  dressing  of  the  Wells." 

Mary  said  nothmg,  but  lay  with  her  head  on 
the  old  woman's  arm  until,  a  clock  striking,  she 
rose,  and,  kissing  the  dame's  wrinkled  face,  said, 
"It  is  time  I  was  out.  Come,  Margaret,  my 
dear  one,  my  second  mother — " 

"God  bless  thee  for  that  sweet  word!"  said 
the  old  woman,  interrupting  her. 

"Come  and  help  me  to  dress.  I  have  to  take 
some  flowers  to  Giovanni's  studio  at  the  back  of 
the  inn ;  he  must  finish  his  great  design  to-day !" 
"Yes,  yes,"  said  the  old  woman,  beginning  to 
make  her  simple  toilet,  while  Mary  stole  back 
to  her  own  room  and  went  to  her  casement  once 
more  and  looked  out,  her  mind  as  full  of  new 
sensations  as  the  earliest  promptings  of  spring  to 
Dame  Nature  herself ;  dreamy  longings,  a  strange 
fullness  of  knowledge ;  and  then,  a  sudden  flut- 
tering of  the  heart  and  a  vague  fear,  and  a 
sigh  for  lost  innocence,  that  would  not  have 
seemed  like  a  strange  sophisticism  if  her  father 
had  blessed  her  and  given  her  away  with  his 
©wn  hand.     "Ah,  why  had  she  not  waited:" '  her 


1(58      THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

still,  small  voice  whispered ;  but  the  reply  came 
as  quickly,  "I  loved  him,  he  wanted  me  for  his 
Avife,  I  desired  him  for  my  husband.  'Whom 
God  hath  joined,  let  no  man  put  asunder!'  " 

The  dew  was  on  every  leaf  and  blade  of  grass 
when  Mary  brushed  aside  the  flowers  and  foliage 
of  the  Manor  House  garden,  plucking  at  random 
the  rarest  blooms  and  the  poorest.  Elias  With- 
ers, the  gardener,  met  her  half-way  down  the 
lower  walks,  by  My  Lady's  Bower,  and  gave  her 
a  hearty  "Good-morning,"  and  offered  to  carry 
her  store  of  dripping  treasures. 

"They  be  a'  wet  wi'  dew,  mistress,"  he  said, 
"and  'tis  pity  to  taint  thy  gown,  so  pink  and 
white  and  fresh  it  is!" 

"Thank  you.  Withers,  thank  you,"  Mary  re- 
plied; "I  don't  mind  my  gown;  only  get  me  a 
few  guelder-roses,  a  peony  or  so,  a  bunch  of 
yonder  blue  and  white  lupins  and  a  few  spra}'"S 
of  monkshood,  and  I  shall  make  shift  to  carry 
them.  I  am  taking  them  to  Signor  Ziletto,  for 
his  great  design  of  the  Manor  House  Spring." 

"A  mortal  fine  thing  it  be,  they  say,  the  few 
as  have  seen  'im;  like  a  hangel  or  summat;  but 
I  hoape  as  Eyam'll  come  out  fust,  after  all," 
said  the  gardener,  plucking  the  flowers  she  asked 
for,  and  making  a  bouquet  of  them.  "Chris- 
topher Newbold,  farmer  Newbold's  son,  he  that 
made  the  temple  for  Clegg's  Well  last  Ascen- 
sion, he's  thriving  wi'  his  piece,  they  tell  me, 
and  is  nigh  finished ;  wi'  such  blue  and  crimson 
and  twigs  of  pine  and  May-blobs,  the  like  has 
never  been  seen  for  cullur  and  shapeliness." 


THE   DAGGER    AXD   THE    CROSS  169 

"But  it  is  kind  of  Sig'iioi'  Ziletto  to  help  us, 
Elias,"  said  Mary. 

"Ay,  I  s'pose  it  be;  but,  dang  it,  mistress,  I 
doau't  know  as  it's  foreigner's  business;  we'n 
managed  to  make  a  show  of  our  own." 

"Oh!  but  we  have  always  welcomed  outside 
aid,"  said  Mary. 

"I'm  one  as  doan't  care  for  strangers  much, 
mistress;  but  I  ax  pardon,  if  I  be  agen  your 
opinion,  'cause  there's  nowt  as  I  wouldua'  gi'e 
in  to,  if  'twas  you  as  liked  it!  And  I'm  hanged 
if  I  'ud  say  that  o'  anybody  else!" 

"Thank  you,  Withers,"  Mary  replied,  a  little 
flushed.  "I  am  in  favor  of  the  foreigners;  very 
much  in  favor  of  Signor  Giovanni  Ziletto ;  and  I 
want  you  to  be  so,  Elias,  and  all  the  village." 

"Very  well,  then,  I'n  gotten  no  more  to  say. 
If  you  favor  him,  why,  of  course,  whul'  village'll 
do  so;  it  isna'  much  we  can  do  to  make  return 
for  kindness  you've  shown  to  all  on  us,  young 
and  old,  and  to  the  poor  and  suflferin' :  so  reckon 
me  on  th'  side  o'  the  foreigners,  though,  dang 
me,  it  wellnigh  busts  me  to  say  so!" 

"You  are  very  good,  Elias.  If  Sir  George  should 
come  into  the  garden  and  ask  for  me,  tt^ll  him  I 
am  on  the  business  of  the  decorating  committee." 

"Yes,  mistress,  yes;  and  thank  you  kindly," 
said  Elias,  watching  her  as  she  tripped  through 
the  further  gate  and  into  the  glen. 

"She's  fond  o'  goin'  back  way  to  village!  'Tis 
prettiest,  they  all  do  say;  but  gi'e  me  th'  easiest 
— just  straight  down  the  street,  and  no  rocks  and 
stiles  to  clam'  ovver." 


170  THE  DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS 

Mary  had  had  her  choice  of  the  two  ways  of 
hfe ;  she  had  chosen  the  rocky  one — the  devious 
path  with  stiles  to  cHmb  and  nettles  to  push 
through,  and  thorns  for  the  feet  and  broken 
rocks,  and  darkness  when  she  prayed  for  light. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-TWO 
"these  flowers  are  like  the  pleasures  of 

THE  world" 

It  was  a  remarkable  piece  of  work,  Ziletto's 
Flora,  the  foundation  constructed  of  wicker  and 
wood,  deftly  manipulated  by  the  local  carpenter, 
who  had  never  yet  worked  upon  so  elaborate  a 
design.  He  had  been  amazed  to  see  the  figure 
grow  upon  his  trestle  and  scantlings,  and  assume 
graceful  shape  and  pose.  Notwithstanding  hos- 
tile criticism  in  Florence,  Ziletto  was  no  inferior 
artist.  Flora  was  a  subject  he  had  worked  at 
long  ago,  though  in  a  bolder  and  less  chaste 
model  than  the  one  he  had  created  for  the  Eyam 
festival,  inspired  by  rivalry  of  Roubillac,  as  well 
as  a  desire  to  shine  in  the  eyes  of  Mary  Talbot 
and  win  him  credit  with  the  villagers  and  the 
people  at  the  Old  Hall.  It  was  a  semi-nude 
figure,  draped  with  a  flowing  robe  of  white 
daisies,  fringed  with  a  Greek  border  of  golden 
buds,  that  half  a  score  of  women  and  girls  had 
helped  to  embroider.  The  cornucopia  was  filled 
with  flowers  and  imitation  fruits,  the  face  and 


THE   DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS  171 

bust  of  the  goddess  of  simple  clay  with  a  slight 
tint  of  flesh  dexterously  suggested.  In  the  rough 
braided  hair,  a  gem  of  flowers,  brooch-like,  was 
conspicuous,  and  a  trail  of  daisies,  with  their 
yellow  centers,  in  the  tresses  that  fell  in  thick 
masses  about  the  shoulders;  a  very  clever  and 
effective  bit  of  rough  modeling,  bold  and  striking. 
The  archway  was  a  mass  of  radiant  color  and  an 
emblazoning  of  the  arms  of  the  Talbot  family, 
with  which  Sir  George  had  confessed  himself 
mightily  pleased;  Marj^,  after  much  persuasion, 
having  induced  her  father  to  visit  the  studio, 
and  at  a  time  when  Ziletto  was  in  the  midst  of 
his  assistant  villagers  and  the  local  carpenter. 
It  might  not  have  been  intended,  but  this  enabled 
Mary  the  easier,  when  she  had  been  detained 
from  home  longer  than  was  usual  with  her,  to 
say  boldly  that  she  had  been  assisting  the  artist 
who  had  charge  of  the  Manor  House  Spring. 

While  Mary  was  brushing  away  the  dew  in 
her  father's  garden,  and  appealing  to  Elias 
Withers  for  his  favorable  consideration  of  Zi- 
letto, the  Italian  was  impatient  for  the  coming 
of  Mary.  He  had  dressed  himself  more  like  a 
bridegroom  than  a  modeler  of  clay  or  a  mosaic- 
worker  in  flowers.  He  was  arrayed  in  a  silken 
doublet  and  hose,  a  dainty  gold  chain  about  his 
neck  suspending  a  sparkling  gem — some  foreign 
order  or  an  imitation  thereof — a  velvet  cap  and 
feather  upon  his  head,  his  black  hair  hanging 
about  his  ears.  His  mandolin  was  lying  upon 
a  bank  of  flowers,  many  withered  and  torn,  some 
fresh  and  lovely,  all  simple  material  for  the  deco- 


172  THE   DAGGER   AND  THE   CROSS 

ration  of  the  trophy  that  stood,  nearly  completed, 
lining  up  the  ends  of  the  barn  with  its  high- 
pitched  open-timbered  roof,  but  so  skillfully  put 
together  that  it  was  the  next  day  carried  out  in 
a  few  sections  and  erected  triumphantly. 

The  gateway  of  the  barn  was  ajar,  as  Ziletto 
had  told  Mary  she  would  find  it ;  and  presently, 
when  she  pushed  it  open  with  her  arms  full  of 
flowers,  Ziletto  sprang  forward  and  had  closed 
and  barred  it  against  all  comers,  ere  he  took  her 
to  his  arms,  flowers  and  all,  with  a  passionate 
embrace. 

"My  darling,  you  have  come!"  he  said,  with 
that  soft  musical  accent  that  had  fascinated  the 
English  girl  the  first  time  he  had  spoken  to  her. 

She  withdrew  from  his  arms  for  a  moment,  to 
lay  aside  her  floral  burden,  her  cheeks  aglow  with 
blushes,  and  then  flung  herself  back  into  them 
with  the  abandon  of  a  Southern  beauty,  though, 
to  all  appearance,  she  was,  as  we  have  seen,  a 
typical  product  of  the  colder  North. 

"My  wife !"  he  exclaimed,  and  pressed  her  fair 
cheek  against  his  own,  peach  and  olive  in  color; 
she  florid  in  her  healthy  loveliness,  he  dark  and 
sinister  to  critical  eyes,  framed  to  captivate  and 
to  deceive. 

The  air  was  faint  with  the  luscious  perfume  of 
heaped-up  flowers  and  dewy  foliage,  and  all  the 
world  a  dream;  yet  one  burning  thought  now 
dominated  Mary's  mind.  Could  they  not  tell 
her  father?  Of  course  they  could,  he  said;  but 
not  yet.  Why  not  keep  their  holy  secret  until 
th©,y  were  sure  their  litt]^  fault  would  be  con' 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE    CROSS  1?3 

doned?  Did  it  not  give  a  new  and  romantic  joy 
to  their  happiness?  He  could  saj^  nothing  that 
she  did  not  acquiesce  in ;  every  word  was  music 
to  her  soul,  but  a  music  that  had  a  delirious  sense 
of  pain  in  its  keenest  joy. 

The  half -clad  figure  of  Flora  looked  down  upon 
them,  with  her  cornucopia  and  her  trailing  daisy 
garment.  Pandora's  box  would  have  been  more 
appropriate,  taking  the  future  into  account;  a 
future  that  already  made  a  faint  sound  of  dis- 
cordant music  in  Marj'^'s  heart,  but  too  faint  for 
observation,  too  faint  to  be  heard  against  the 
deep,  rich,  overwhelming  and  complicated  har- 
monies of  her  happiness. 

Presently,  while  she  half-reclined  upon  a  bank 
of  flowers  by  the  staging  of  his  classic  trophy  for 
the  Manor  House  Spring,  Ziletto  touched  the 
strings  of  his  mandolin  and  sang  to  her  in  a 
low  soft  voice  one  of  those  Italian  lullaby  songs, 
with  hushed  whispers  of  love  in  it  and  reminis- 
cent murmurings  of  summer  flowers;  and  the 
transformed  barn  became  a  temple  of  the  gods, 
a  Temple  of  Love  and  peace  and  heavenly  for- 
getfulness. 

Thus  the  time  passed  on  with  sunny  footsteps ; 
and  presently,  the  villagers,  who  assisted  in  the 
work  of  adorning  the  trophy,  came  tapping  at 
the  door.  Then  Ziletto,  taking  Mary  by  the 
hand,  led  her  to  a  nook  behind  the  Flora,  and 
bade  them  return  anon,  when  Miss  Talbot  should 
come.  As  soon  as  they  disappeared,  he  opened 
the  doorways  wide,  and  Mary  camo  forth  and 
took  lip  h^r  station  by  the  staging,  and  Ziletto 


174  THE  DAGGER   AND   TIIH   CROSS 

laughed  and  kissed  her,  and  made  merry  over 
the  defeat  of  his  other  collaborators;  but  tlie 
subterfuge  was  a  blow  to  Mary's  conscience;  a 
very  little  blow,  perhaps,  but  she  suffered  a  pass- 
ing pang  of  bruised  pride  and  wounded  seif-re  • 
spect.  The  shadow  vanished,  however,  almost 
as  quickly  as  it  had  come ;  and  when  the  bash- 
ful maidens  returned,  with  Vicars  the  tailor, 
who  brought  some  special  buds  and  blossoms 
from  a  Baslow  garden,  Mary  turned  to  greet 
them,  and  Ziletto  welcomed  them  with  more 
than  usual  formality. 

Vicars,  with  a  professional  eye,  stood  still  to 
gaze  upon  the  Italian's  new  costume — one  of  his 
London  purchases — short  doublet,  open  in  front, 
without  any  under-waistcoat,  and  displaying  a 
rich  silken  shirt  that  bulged  out  from  over  the 
waistband  of  a  pair  of  loose  breeches,  character- 
istic of  the  early  days  of  Charles  II.,  which,  as 
well  as  the  large  full  sleeve,  were  counted  ex- 
ceedingly picturesque,  with  points  and  ruffles; 
but  Ziletto  had  discarded  the  effeminate  ruffles 
below  the  knee,  having  in  its  place  a  ribbon  tied 
in  a  true-lover's  knot,  his  shoes  similarly  adorned 
and  with  high  red  heels. 

"Ah,  Signer  Vicars,  you  are  struck  with  my 
new  clothes.  You  have  the  impulse  of  the 
artist." 

"I  ask  your  pardon,  sir,  for  admiring  them," 
said  Vicars.  "I  only  wish  I  might  have  the  cut 
of  them." 

"And  so  you  shall,  with  all  my  heart,"  said 
Ziletto.     "You  are  thinking  they  ill  become  the 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS  175 

workman,  the  sculptor  in  his  atelier ;  but  this  is 
a  great  day,  my  friend — it  is  the  day  on  which 
we  complete  our  labors,  and  I  dressed  myself  for 
the  great  occasion." 

"But  to-morrow,  signor,  is  the  great  occasion, 
I  am  thinking,"  said  Vicars. 

*'Not  for  me,  sir,  not  for  me,"  said  Ziletto; 
"yesterday  and  to-day  are  the  golden  days  in  my 
calendar,"  and  he  glanced  at  Mary  Talbot,  who 
turned  aside  to  hide  her  blushes. 

"You  have  different  customs  in  your  country, 
signor,"  said  Vicars. 

"In  some  things,  yes,"  the  Italian  replied. 
"The  day  of  consummation  is  our  great  day. 
to-morrow  we  celebrate;  to-day  we  call  upon 
the  gods  to  seal  our  work." 

He  pointed  to  the  Flora,  and  chuckled  inwardly 
at  his  ready  fiction ;  and  Vicars  said  "To  be  sure, 
there  was  sense  in  that,  only  they  had  no  gods  in 
in  Eyam,  only  One,  and  it  was  on  Ascension  Day 
they  asked  His  acceptance  of  their  handiwork." 

"Yes,  as  you  say,  good  Signor  Vicars,"  Ziletto 
answered,  "different  nations  have  different  cus- 
toms. When  I  return  to  my  own  land  it  will 
greatly  interest  the  Florentines  and  Venetians  to 
hear  of  the  manners  and  habits  of  your  wonder- 
ful England." 

"When  you  return!"  said  Vicars.  "Ah,  we 
had  never  thought  of  that." 

"You  pay  me  a  great  compliment,  Signor 
Vicars,"  said  Ziletto. 

"We  had  come  to  think  of  you  as  one  who 
might  fix  his  permanent  abode  among  us." 


no  THfi  DAGGER   AND  THE   CROSS 

"It  is  very  good  of  you  to  honor  a  stranger  so 
highlj\  Then,  you  would  have  me  build  a  villa, 
and  make  my  home  here?     Alas !  it  may  not  be. " 

Neither  he  nor  Yicars  saw  how  eagerly  Mary 
Talbot  was  listening  to  this  dialogue  as  she  leaned 
against  the  scaffolding  of  the  Flora,  half  hidden 
by  the  group  of  girls  and  women  awaiting  the 
artist's  directions  to  resume  their  work  upon  the 
trophy. 

"But  you  are  happy,  signor,  among  us?  We 
should  be  very  unhappy,  I  assure  you,  if  you  were 
to  leave  us.  You  see,  we  have  got  used  to  you. 
At  first  we  did  not  much  care  to  have  foreigners 
here ;  but  we  acknowledge  that  we  were  wrong, 
and  we  would  be  willing  to  have  you  teach  us 
your  arts,  and — well,  there,  I  beg  pardon,  I 
don't  know  that  I  can  express  myself  without 
seeming  too  familiar.  It  is,  shortlj^  that  we  folk 
of  the  Peak  have  a  liking  for  you  and  admire  you 
— and  it  has  been  somewhat  against  our  will.  I 
know  I'm  not  putting  the  thing  just  as  I  ought; 
but  you  will  understand  our  friendly  feeling,  and 
all  the  rest  of  it. ' ' 

"Yes,  yes,  signor,"  said  several  women,  step- 
ping forward  to  emphasize  what  Vicars  had  said 
so  bunglingly ;  and  Mary  Talbot  looked  on. 

"I  quite  understand,"  said  Ziletto,  "and  I  wish 
it  might  be  as  you  are  good  enough  to  desire." 

"But  at  least  you  will  not  leave  us  before  the 
feast  we  mostly  call  the  Wake?" 

"And  when  is  the  feast  that  you  mostly  call 
the  Wake?"  asked  Ziletto,  with  an  amused  smile 
.;0f  patronizing  encouragement. 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  177 

"In  August,"  said  Vicars;  "only  some  three 
months  from  now." 

"August!"  said  Ziletto  thoughtfully;  "alas! 
I  must  be  far  away  from  Eyam  long  before 
August." 

There  was  a  stifled  hysterical  cry,  and  Mary 
Talbot  fell  into  the  arms  of  her  nearest  neighbor. 


CHAPTER   TWENTY-THREE 

COUNTERS  AND  PUPPETS,  AND  MYLADY'S  BOWEK 

It  was  only  a  brief  moment  of  unconscious 
ness  that  had  overcome  the  village  beauty.     She 
rallied  before  Susan  Dakin,  the  constable's  daugh- 
ter, had  pressed  a  cup  of  water  to  her  lips. 

The  general  consensus  of  opinion  was  that  the 
scent  of  the  zeringa  had  proved  too  much  for  her. 
Susan  Dakin  said  it  was  more  powerful  than  lilies 
or  bluebells  or  gardenia  in  a  close  room;  but 
Mary  knew  they  libeled  the  beautiful  flowers 
when  thej^  blamed  their  perfume  for  her  swoon- 
ing ;  and  Ziletto  knew ;  and  later,  when  an  op- 
portunity arose  to  whisper  in  her  ear  a  few  re- 
assuring words,  she  recovered  and  was  her  happy 
self  again. 

When  the  dinner  hour  was  over  and  Mary  had 
returned,  a  little  while  before  the  rest,  Ziletto  said : 

"And  didst  think  I  would  go  without  thee, 
Bweet?" 

"I  did  not  think;  but  suddenly  my  heart 
stopped  beating,"  she  answered. 


178  THE   DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS 

"You  would  love  my  beautiful  Florence,  cara 
mia;  and  Florence  would  love  you,  my  wife." 
he  said,  encircling  her  with  his  arm. 

"But  my  father?"  she  said. 

"Would  take  ship  with  us,  and  visit  your  new 
country. ' ' 

"Do  you  think  he  would?" 

"I  do  not  doubt  it." 

"And  should  we  live  in  Florence,  always?" 

"You  would  not  like  to  leave  these  native  hills 
and  dales,  eh?" 

"ISTot  for  always;  but  wherever  you  desired  to 
live,  I  am  your  wife  to  honor  and  obey,"  she 
said  with  loving  devotion. 

"We  have  fetes  in  Florence,  and  there  are 
pageants  in  Venice  that  would  make  you  think 
'twas  heaven  indeed." 

"It  would  always  be  heaven  with  you,  Gio- 
vanni," said  the  lovesick  girl. 

"You  are  too  sweet  to  me— too  gracious," 
Ziletto  answered. 

"Oh,  if  we  might  tell  our  father  now,  and 
take  counsel  with  him,"  she  answered,  with  sud- 
den eagerness.  "A  great  darkness  all  in  a  mo- 
ment fell  upon  my  spirits  when  you  talked  of 
leaving  Eyam." 

"Ah,  sweet,  I  am  sorry;  but  I  cannot  always 
stay  in  Eyam.  Even  now,  I  have  affairs  await- 
ing me ;  I  have  sent  my  man  already  to  London 
to  delay  them  until  I  may  arrange  to  travel." 

The  frank,  open  fa,ce  of  the  girl,  rosy  with 
health  a  moment  before,  paled  almost  to  sickli- 
ness as  he  spoke  again  of  traveling. 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  179 

Hitherto  she  had  walked  as  in  a  dream,  mostly 
upon  flowers,  no  thought  of  the  morrow  except 
how  soon  it  should  bring  her  to  his  arms;  and 
now,  in  the  first  hours  of  their  secret  honeymoon, 
when  he  talked  of  a  future  that  she  had  never 
contemplated,  ill  -  omened  fancies  clouded  her 
brain,  and  a  vague  fear  oppressed  her. 

"You  would  not  ask  me  to  go  away  with  you 
privately — to  follow  you,  perhaps,  without  my 
father's  knowledge?"  she  said,  with  sudden 
eagerness. 

"And  if  I  did,  my  own,  if  I  did?" 

"Oh,  Giovanni,  don't  ask  it!  For  the  dear 
love  I  bear  you,  for  the  honor  of  my  name  and 
yours,  for  the  love  and  duty  I  owe  to  Sir  George, 
my  father,  don't  do  that,  dear." 

"Then  I  will  not,"  he  answered,  just  a  trifle 
bored  with  her  scruples,  and  remembering  as  a 
point  against  her  how  patient  he  had  been  with 
her  coyness,  until  he  had  overcome  it  with  a 
formal  ceremony  in  the  chapel  of  the  Old  Hall, 
the  revelation  of  which  belongs  to  the  future  of 
this  history. 

* '  My  dear  husband ! ' '  she  said,  her  arms  around 
him,  her  kisses  upon  his  lips,  all  at  once  thawing 
the  ice  that  was  beginning  to  form  upon  the  dark 
pool  of  his  passion. 

"You  are  adorable!"  he  exclaimed,  pressing 
her  to  his  breast.     "Do  with  me  what  you  will!" 

But  when  she  tried  to  do  with  him  what  she 
would  she  failed. 

It  was  impossible  that  his  passion  for  the  En^ 
glish  beauty  could  have  cooled  so  soon ;  and  yet, 


180  THE   DAGM5ER   AND  THE   CROSS 

notwithstanding  a  solemn  and  awful  compact 
with  Roubillac,  it  had  entered  his  mind  that 
at  the  dancing,  after  the  Ascension  services,  he 
w^ould  solicit  the  honor  of  Francesca's  hand  in 
the  very  first  measure  of  the  evening. 

Vanity,  as  well  as  passion,  was  a  factor  in  this 
villainy.  He  would  play  off  one  beauty  against 
the  other.  Francesca's  eyes  should  follow  him 
in  the  dance  when  he  took  the  hand  of  Mary 
Talbot,  and  she  should  look  jealously  upon  him 
when  he  danced  with  her  rival  of  Italy. 

There  was  a  certain  subtle  refinement  of  self- 
ishness in  Ziletto's  amours.  They  were  the  busi- 
ness of  his  life.  He  might  have  been  the  hero 
of  one  of  those  old  erotic  poems  that  amused  the 
leisure  of  certain  of  our  wicked  forefathers.  To 
Ziletto  life  was  a  game,  and  women  the  counters 
and  the  puppets. 

For  the  time  being,  however,  he  humored  his 
village  beauty.  He  swore  that  life  without  her 
would  be  a  desert;  that  he  would  risk  all  and 
kneel  at  her  father's  feet;  that  nothing  should 
part  them.  At  the  moment  he  half  believed 
what  he  said ;  but  he  had  never  known  so  fair 
and  novel  a  beauty  as  the  village  belle  of  Eyam. 
Nor  was  she  all  unconscious  of  her  charms.  She 
had  woman's  native  gift  of  coquetry,  yet  only 
one  humble  ambition,  and  that  was  to  please  the 
man  she  loved.  She  had  soon  forgotten  the  pro- 
testing shrug  of  his  shoulders  when  first  she  spoke 
of  her  father.  Every  shred  of  doubt  that  had 
torn  her  soul  at  his  callous  talk  of  leaving  Eyam 
bad.  V anisbed  with  bis  embraces.    It  ehovild  ratbc? 


THE   DAGGER   AND    THE    CROSS  181 

have  been  the  fiend  that  looked  down  upon  them 
from  Ziletto's  leafy  archway,  with  its  daisy- 
draped  figure  of  Flora,  than  the  image  of  beauty ; 
though  it  was  suggestive  enough  to  the  Italian's 
inner  consciousness  that  she  represented  to  him 
only  the  goddess  of  the  Floralia. 

And  3'et  no  fire  from  heaven  smote  him  while 
he  lay  in  the  arms  of  one  who  might  have  emu- 
lated the  chastity  of  Diana  but  for  his  discovery 
of  her  woman's  weakness. 

It  was  long  after  those  days  that  Balzac  said, 
in  love  a  woman  is  like  a  lyre,  that  surrenders 
lier  secrets  only  to  the  hand  that  knows  how  to 
touch  its  strings ;  and  De  Musset  crystalized  a 
common  thought  into  the  aphorism  that ' '  Happi- 
ness may  have  but  one  night,  as  glory  but  one 
day."  But  lust  is  a  classic  impulse,  and  the  first 
woman  gave  her  confidence  to  the  devil.  He 
must  have  come  to  her  in  some  such  shape  as 
Giovanni  Ziletto  came  to  Mary  Talbot. 

Meanwhile  the  hours  sped  on,  and  long  before 
the  early  supper-time  of  those  days  the  decora- 
tion for  the  Manor  House  Spring  was  finished. 

Ziletto,  in  the  presence  of  his  assistants,  made 
the  figure  a  low  bow,  and  w^ished  it  good  fort- 
une, and  apologized  in  a  mock-merry  w^ay  to  the 
goddess  for  taking  her  to  pieces.  That  had  to 
be  done,  and  it  was  wonderful  to  see  how  cleverly 
Joe  Higgins,  the  carpenter,  did  the  work.  It 
was  not  the  first  Well-dressing  he  had  seen,  nor 
was  it  likely  to  be  the  last,  he  said. 

The  several  parts  of  the  trophy  being  laid  ready 
for  removal  by  daybreak^  the  working  compan;jr 


182  THE  DAGGER  AND  THE   CROSS 

retired,  the  girls  with  arms  about  each  other's 
waists,  as  is  the  habit  of  girls,  Higgins  and  his 
apprentices  to  the  Crown  and  Anchor,  Ziletto 
staying  behind  to  lock  the  barn,  and  Mary,  by  a 
roundabout  way,  proceeding  homeward. 

Ziletto  presently  overtook  her,  and  when  Mary 
mounted  the  steps  to  the  meadow  that  led  to  My 
Lady's  Bower  and  the  Manor  House  Garden,  he 
bade  her  "Good-by  until  the  welcome  night," 
and  disappeared  down  the  glen,  avoiding  the 
narrow  path,  that  was  hateful  to  him  now,  be- 
cause of  his  encounter  with  Clegg.  He  had  said 
nothing  of  this  incident  to  Mary,  nor  to  any  other ; 
except  to  the  one  person  who  alone  had  his  full 
confidence,  and  that  was  himself.  He  had  held 
much  discourse  with  himself  about  it,  and  had 
vowed  a  deep  revenge. 

It  could  not  be,  he  thought,  that  he  and  Clegg 
would  not  meet  again  on  the  more  equal  terms 
of  the  sword ;  it  had  not  suited  his  convenience 
to  accept  the  challenge  Clegg  had  given  him, 
nor  did  he  desire  to  have  his  present  amusements 
shadowed  by  a  possible  mishap.  It  was  unlike 
him  to  refuse  a  meeting ;  unlike  him  not  to  seize 
upon  such  exercise  at  once ;  but  Clegg  had  some- 
what shaken  his  nerve  with  a  sense  of  unusual 
physical  power;  and,  moreover,  touching  the 
question  of  revenge,  he  asked  himself  what 
keener  revenge  could  he  be  enjoying  than  his 
triumph  over  the  girl  whom  Clegg,  he  could  see, 
would  give  away  his  soul  to  possess.  *'0r  the 
thing  he  calls  his  soul,"  he  said,  as  he  doffed  his 
doublet,  and,  putting  on  a  simple  jerkin,  betook 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE  CROSS  183 

himself  toward  the  Old  Hall,  walking  along  the 
road  and  taking  a  cross-cut  by  the  moorland. 

As  he  passed  out  of  the  long  street  he  met 
many  pedestrians,  horsemen,  and  people  in  carts, 
carriages  and  wagons  entering  the  village. 

Visitors  had  been  coming  all  day  long  from 
various  neighboring  places,  and  would  go  on 
through  the  twilight  and  far  into  the  night. 

Almost  every  house  had  its  guests,  and  great 
preparations  had  been  made  for  their  entertain- 
ment. If  the  fare  was  coarse  it  was  plentiful, 
and  beer  flowed  like  water.  It  was  only  in  a 
few  houses  that  foreign  liquors  were  to  be  had. 
There  were  venison  pasty,  in  and  out  of  season, 
chines  of  beef,  bacon  in  abundance ;  and,  though 
the  wines  of  France  and  Italy  were  almost  un- 
known among  the  commonalty,  there  was  hardly 
a  house  that  had  not  its  gooseberry  and  its  elder- 
berry, not  to  mention  the  wine  of  the  cowslip  and 
sparkling  herb  beers  that  were  deemed  nectar  by 
the  gentler  sex  and  the  young. 

The  absence  of  the  Bradshaws  was  much  la- 
mented. In  the  previous  year  the  lady  of  the 
Old  Hall,  then  a  new-comer  with  a  reputation 
to  make  among  her  neighbors  and  the  people  of 
Ej-am,  had  given  much  distinction  to  the  festi- 
val, bringing  with  her  many  guests  from  Lon- 
don, whose  fashions  had  been  the  study  and  won- 
der of  the  village  ever  since ;  and  it  was  during 
a  conversation  with  Ziletto  concerning  certain 
articles  of  finery  and  frippery  that  the  Italian, 
taking  a  hint  of  things  Mar}^  had  spoken  of  with 
admiration,  had  mentioned  them  as  special  pur- 


184  THE   DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS 

chases  to  be  made  by  his  man  in  London,  and 
brought  post-haste,  at  any  cost,  in  time  for  the 
Ascension. 

Pedro  had  been  gone  a  month,  but  had  not  yet 
been  heard  from.  When  commanded  on  his 
journey  he  had  urged  the  many  difficulties  in 
the  way.  These  had  been  smoothed  at  once 
with  an  ample  purse. 

"But  the  Plague!"  Pedro  had  said,  as  a  last 
appeal ;  for  he,  too,  had  his  love  affair  in  the  vil- 
lage. 

"Is  at  an  end,"  Ziletto  had  replied,  "and  thou 
knowest  it.  The  citizens  were  returning  to  their 
shops,  the  rich  merchants  and  private  people  to 
their  houses,  even  when  we  passed  through  Lon- 
don." 

And  Pedro,  who  rarely  ventured  word  of  doubt 
of  his  master's  orders  or  of  resistance  thereto,  had 
left  Eyam,  but  with  a  sinking  heart  and  a  fore- 
boding of  ill.  It  had  seemed  to  him,  as  he  rode 
away  and  looked  back  upon  the  mountain  vil- 
lage, as  if  his  master's  radiant  star  was  more 
likely  to  tind  its  eclipse  there  than  to  win  an 
added  brightness ;  but  Pedro  was  a  good  deal  of 
a  pessimist,  and  he  had  found  Emily  Radford 
of  the  Crown  and  Anchor  inclined  to  be  very 
amiable. 

Sir  George  Talbot  had  invited  several  of  his 
country  friends  and  neighbors  to  the  Manor 
House.  The  Old  Hall  being  extended  and  beau- 
tified prevented  Lady  Bradshaw  from  coming 
to  Eyam  for  this  present  festival,  but  she  had 
promised  to  make  up  for  her  absence  at  the  Well- 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  185 

dressing  by  a  special  visit  for  the  Wakes  in  Au- 
gust. Sir  George  was  therefore  doing  all  he 
could  to  supply  the  place  of  the  quality  from  the 
Old  Hall.  The  Manor  House  counted  quite  a 
dozen  guests,  gentlemen  and  their  ladies,  and 
they  kept  him  very  busy.  He  had  made  ample 
excuses  for  Mary.  She  was  the  prime  mover, 
as  they  knew,  in  the  organization  of  the  Well- 
dressing,  and  the  work  this  year  had  been  more 
than  usual  on  account  of  the  allied  efforts  of  the 
Italians  to  make  the  celebration  a  famous  success. 
Nevertheless,  Marj^  had  managed  to  sit  at  the 
head  of  Sir  George's  hospitable  table,  both  at  din- 
ner and  supper,  and  had  taken  part  in  the  even- 
ing's amusements  until  bedtime.  They  had  all 
retired  early,  on  account  of  the  heavy  business 
of  the  next  day's  duties  and  pleasures.  But 
when  the  house  was  asleep,  there  stole  out  into 
the  night  a  cloaked  figure  watched  and  guarded 
to  the  garden  doorv/ay  by  Mrs.  Margaret  Dobbs, 
who  on  this  night  was  lying  with  her  mistress, 
giving  up  her  own  bed  to  the  servants  of  the 
guests,  Avhich  made  it  all  the  easier  for  Mary 
(who,  in  whispers,  called  herself  Signora  Ziletto) 
to  steal  away  to  her  lover  in  My  Lady's  Bower. 


CHAPTER   TWENTY-FOUR 

WHERE   THE    PAST   AND   THE    PRESENT   MEET 

The  next  day  came  to  Eyam  radiant  with  sun- 
shine.    The  genial  warmth  of  it  got  into  the  pec- 


186  THE  DAGGER   AND  THE  CROSS 

pie's  hearts.  They  greeted  each  other  with  an 
unusual  neighborly  cordiality. 

There  was  about  the  village  an  aspect  of  great 
prosperity.  Every  window  had  its  pots  of  flow- 
ers, every  door  was  wide  open,  every  step  had 
been  newly  washed,  every  hearthstone  was  white 
as  snow,  and  in  many  a  grate  bunches  of  flowers 
or  branches  of  hawthorn  had  ousted  the  wood 
that  had  been  laid  for  lighting,  for  cooking  or 
for  warmth,  as  the  need  might  be,  should  the 
chill  nights  not  yet  be  over.  There  had  been 
snow  on  summer  days  in  Eyam ;  but  in  the  Spring 
and  Summer  of  this  history,  Nature  had  been 
bountiful  of  sunshine  and  the  fruitful  warmth  of 
genial  showers. 

During  the  night,  and  at  the  earliest  dawn, 
visitors  had  been  arriving.  Soon  after  sunrise 
several  stalls  had  been  erected  upon  the  Green, 
quaint  arrangements  under  canvas,  all  mysteri- 
ously closed,  and  not  to  be  opened  until  the  relig- 
ious ceremonies  of  the  day  should  be  concluded. 

Ziletto  and  his  assistants  had  erected  his  trophy 
over  the  Manor  House  Spring,  that  was  situated 
at  a  green  bend  of  the  road,  near  the  entrance  to 
Middleton  Dale.  It  marked  a  new  departure  in 
the  Well-dressing,  no  previous  artist  having  ever 
attempted  the  presentation  of  a  figure.  From  the 
earliest  hour  of  its  appearance  a  crowd  of  villagers 
had  gathered  about  it,  noting  its  reflection  in  the 
pool  that  lay  silent  outside  the  spring,  that  dis- 
persed its  surplus  waters  by  a  runnel  apart  from 
the  pool,  which  the  little  stream  seemed  mysteri- 
ously to  avoid.    The  waters  of  the  Peak  do  strange 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  187 

things;  making  sudden  and  unexplained  appear- 
ances here  and  there,  sometimes  bursting  forth  in 
a  night,  to  disappear  just  as  strangely. 

Roubillac's  adornment  of  Clegg's  Well,  as  we 
have  seen,  was  more  in  keeping  with  local  usage 
than  that  of  Ziletto.  It  had  almost  been  at  the 
last  moment  that  Ziletto  had  remembered  the 
necessity  of  some  appropriate  motto  to  complete 
his  design.  Mary  Talbot  suggested  the  words, 
"God  is  Love,"  to  which  Ziletto,  with  a  subtle 
irony  that  he  alone  understood,  added,  "And  He 
created  Flora."  Of  course,  Mr.  Mompesson  only 
saw  in  this  the  Italian's  comprehension  of  the 
kingdom  of  flowers,  and  thought  it  a  very  happy 
inspiration  of  the  stranger. 

Roubillac  had  woven  into  the  facade  of  his 
shrine  the  crest  of  the  Bradshaws,  a  stag  at 
gaze,  under  a  vine  tree — fructed  proper;  and  in 
a  foliated  arabesque,  that  enfolded  a  Cross,  were 
the  words  of  our  Saviour,  as  recorded  by  St. 
John,  "If  any  man  thirst,  let  him  come  to  Me 
and  drink." 

It  was  altogether  a  design  remarkable  for  its 
dignity  of  form  and  treatment.  Reuben  Clegg 
went  out  early  to  see  what  the  foreigner  should 
make  of  the  well  he  had  helped  to  give  to  Eyam, 
and  he  was  pleased  with  it.  There  was  a  har- 
monious blend  of  color  and  a  nobilit}'  of  design 
that  appealed  to  the  nature  of  the  man  Clegg. 
It  stood  firmly  upon  its  pillars,  it  was  even  use- 
ful: it  covered  the  gushing  waters  as  with  a 
canopy,  it  supplied  a  step,  and  it  bordered  Nat- 
ure's fountain  with  a  circle  of  Nature's  flowers. 


188  THE    DAfJGER   AND   THE    CROSS 

SO  disposed  as  if  tlioy  had  grown  there,  while 
everything  else  iu  the  design  made  for  solidity 
and  permanence  of  colot'.  The  flowers  had  been 
treated  as  material  for  mosaic-work;  Clegg's 
Well  looked  like  some  heavenly  shrine  on  the 
plains  of  an  imaginary  heaven.  The  sight  had 
soothed  Clegg.  He  carefully  avoided  Ziletto's 
work ;  his  heart  was  too  much  against  him.  If 
the  Italian  mountebank  had  only  been  engaged 
upon  some  other  of  the  natural  fountains  of 
Eyam,  if  they  must  be  desecrated  by  such  a 
hand,  he  would  have  been  better  content. 

It  also  gave  Clegg  great  satisfaction,  as  it  did 
likewise  Elias  Withers,  Sir  George's  gardener, 
to  see  with  what  force  of  character  young  New- 
bold  and  his  assistant  had  come  out.  They  had 
erected  over  the  Ever-water  one  of  the  most  am- 
bitious architectural  designs  that  had  as  yet  been 
seen  in  Eyam.  It  had  even  impressed  Roubillac 
and  his  art  comrades;  and  Sir  George  Talbot  had 
dispensed  straightaway,  the  moment  he  saw  it, 
two  gold  pieces,  to  be  divided  between  Newbold 
and  his  fellows,  and  spent  in  a  right  merry  bowl 
at  the  Crown  and  Anchor  when  the  day  should 
be  well  over.  It  was  modeled  from  a  Gothic 
temple — a  favorite  subject  in  the  modern  well- 
dressmgs  of  neighboring  villages  that  still  keep 
the  festival  of  the  Ascension.  But  it  had  not 
the  remarkable  solidit}'  of  Roubillac's  work,  that 
might  in  reality  have  been  a  fine  study  in  mosaics. 
Not  only  had  he  caught  the  effect  of  the  Floren- 
tine, but  he  had  been  able  to  convey  the  idea  of 
hardness.      His  daint}^  spoils  of  stamen,  pistil 


The  dagger  and  the  cross  189 

;.ind  cal^^x,  became  semi-precious  stones  under 
his  mauipulation.  He  bad  used  a  varnish  here 
and  there,  that  might  indeed  be  said,  in  this 
case,  to  have  adorned  the  Hly,  holding  the  flow- 
er-de-luce with  a  force  stronger  than  clay,  and 
making  it  shine  with  the  radiance  of  enamel. 

Now,  on  the  other  hand,  the  Newbold  trophy 
was  a  design  in  tapestry.  It  was  a  picture  cut 
out— a  profile  in  velv^et,  a  mass  of  stiffened  em- 
broidery, a  lovely  thing  that  had  been  unfolded, 
and  might,  the  day  being  over,  be  packed  away 
and  preserved  for  some  other  occasion.  Every 
color  was  represented  by  heads  of  flowers  pressed 
into  th«  soft  clay,  and  producing  a  combination 
of  tints  and  colors  that  had  the  richness  of  em- 
bossed velvet.  "O  let  the  Earth  bless  the  Lord !" 
was  the  legend  of  the  design,  carried  out  in 
marsh-marigold,  that  had  the  effect  of  beaten 
gold,  reminding  one  of  a  section  of  the  front  of 
St.  Mark's  in  Venice. 

The  decorations  of  the  Holy  Well  and  Ham's 
Pool,  minor  springs,  were  also  commendable 
works  of  native  art;  and  it  was  remarked  in 
after  years  that  this  was  the  first  time  the  vil- 
lagers had  gone  so  far  afield  as  the  North  Well 
or  the  North  Brook,  to  honor  the  same  wath  floral 
tribute  that  is  now  more  famous  than  all  the 
others;  some  of  which,  indeed,  have  disappeared 
or  become  wholly  neglected,  while  this  rivulet  or 
well,  half  a  mile  from  the  village  green,  and  al- 
most out  of  sight  of  the  old  church  tower,  has 
become  famous  for  all  time  and  under  a  name 
not  then  at  all  celebrated,  but  which  has  become 


I'.tO  THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

not  only  historic  on  paper,  but  in  fact.  The 
Manor  House  Spring  has  been  absorbed  in  other 
nnrlerground  streams,  but  Mompesson's  Well,  or 
Mompesson's  Rivulet,  is  one  of  the  sights  of 
Eyam.  Little  did  the  rector  or  his  flock  dream 
of  the  destiny  of  the  well  they  went  out  to  dec- 
orate for  the  first  time  in  those  days  of  the 
Talbots  and  the  Bradshaws.  and  the  strangers 
within  their  gates. 


191 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-FOUR 

{Continued) 

Undisturbed  by  the  whistle  of  the  locomotive^ 
away  from  the  highroad  of  travel,  Eyam  is  still, 
in  this  year  of  grace  1896,  a  secluded  hamlet  of 
the  hills ;  and  the  chief  landmarks  of  this  histor}' 
are  as  fresh  and  real  to-day  as  they  were  in  1665. 
Not  the  faintest  echo  of  the  railway  ever  reaches 
Eyam.  The  cottages  in  which  Dakin  and  Vic- 
ars, and  the  rest  lived,  are  still  existing.  If  the 
Manor  House  has  been  rebuilt  and  called  Eyam 
Hall,  it  has,  nevertheless,  all  the  characteristics 
of  the  original,  and  makes  a  claim  upon  the  imagi- 
nation to  which  the  dullest  intellect  must  respond. 
The  church  tower  continues  to  be  a  notable  land- 
mark of  the  wooded  hillside,  and  My  Lady's 
Bower  has  left  its  landmarks.  The  Old  Hall 
has  not  wholly  perished.  A  portion  of  the  East- 
ern end,  that  was  built  by  Lady  Bradshaw,  is 
still  standing.  What  is  left  contains  a  noble  fire- 
place, the  mantels  recessed  and  enriched  with 
deeply  indented  molding.  To-day  it  is  used  as 
a  barn,  and  is  mentioned  to  the  casual  tourist  as 
a  modern  appendage  of  the  Old  Hall ;  it  had  been 


193      THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

intended  to  hang  it  with  tapestry.  AVithin  the 
recollection  of  a  villager  still  living,  and  with 
whom  the  present  historian  has  had  manj-  talks, 
the  tapestry  lay  in  a  heap  in  certain  corners  of 
the  old  bniiding,  where  it  rotted  away. 

So  real  in.  its  age  and  simplicity  is  this  hamlet 
of  the  High  Peak  Hundred,  with  its  ancient 
Cross,  its  walled-in  gardens,  its  umbrageous  tim- 
ber, its  running  waters,  its  Tudor  Manor  House, 
its  treasured  relics  of  the  martyrdom  of  its  vil- 
lage heroes,  the  whole  surrounded  by  the  ever- 
lasting hills,  that  it  requires  no  great  strength 
of  fancy  to  conjure  up  the  gay  procession  of 
the  Ascension  Day  that  is  chronicled  in  these 
pages,  and  to  hear  the  music  of  the  three  or  four 
chiming  bells,  the  bass  of  which  was  destined 
later  to  an  unusual  and  solemn  activity.  Indeed 
so  sensibly  does  the  past  and  the  present  meet 
here,  that  yesterday  seems  to  mingle  with  to- 
day. Eyam  has  stood  still,  as  its  neighbor,  Tis- 
sington,  has ;  both  strangers  to  the  prosaic  sounds 
of  the  railway  whistle,  each  hugging  its  past, 
Eyam  in  a  gloomy  attitude  of  pride;  and  you 
shall  find  its  old  men  as  ready  to  talk  of  iia  long- 
past  tribulation  as  if  these  records  were  a  matter 
of  last  w^eek.  So  powerfully  stirred  is  the  imagi- 
nation when  in  constant  association  wntii  death- 
less scenes,  that  a  certain  inhabitant  of  the  slum- 
berous old  place,  a  chance  acquaintance  of  the 
writer,  thinks  he  almost  remembers  the  occur- 
rence of  certain  incidents  of  this  history,  though 
they  belong  to  a  period  nearly  two  hundred  years 
before  he  was  born.     When  he  is  reminded  of 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE    CROSS  193 

this  inconsistency,  his  wrinkled  face  hghts  up 
with  a  knowing  smile,  and  he  poses  you  by  point- 
ing to  the  houses  where  the  people  of  those  daj's 
lived,  the  house  where  the  clothes  were  unpacked 
that  brought  the  trouble,  as  he  calls  it ;  and  when 
I  tell  him  what  he  has  not  yet  heard  of  the  story 
of  Clegg  and  the  Italians,  he  puckers  up  his  eyes 
and  reflects  upon  it,  sitting  on  his  doorstep  in  the 
sunshine,  and  says  it  may  be  all  true  enough, 
he'd  always  had  a  sort  of  glimmering  of  it,  and, 
furthermore,  that  "the  heavens  declare  the  glory 
of  God  and  the  firmament  showeth  His  handi- 
work. ' ' 

Old  age  shall  tremble  in  its  wits,  and  the  eyes 
shall  see  vaguely  as  through  a  cloud,  and  faint 
tokens  of  the  past  shall  be  veiled  in  a  half -remem- 
bered perfume;  but  great  deeds  outlive  tomb- 
stones, and  romance  is  a  flower  that  springs  with 
perennial  freshness,  though  its  environment  be 
a  ruin,  its  roots  familiar  with  a  corpse. 

"Time,  Time,  his  witliering  hand  hath  laid 
On  battlement  and  tower, 
And  where  rich  banners  were  displayed 
Now  only  waves  a  flower." 

Seek  not  to  dig  it  up  and  set  it  in  your  own 
narrow  garden ;  be  content  to  tell  its  story.  The 
flnderne's  tiny  blossoms  were  brought  from  the 
Holy  Land  by  the  Derbyshire  crusader.  Sir 
Geoffrey.  For  three  hundred  years  after  he 
and  his  very  mansion  had  become  as  nothing, 
there  grew  the  flnderne's  flower  until  a  selfish 
hand  uprooted  it  and  replanted  it  in  a  private 


194  THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS 

garden,  and  fenced  it  round  about  from  the 
great  world,  and  so  it  withered  and  died;  but 
its  memory  hves  in  story  and  in  song,  by  reason 
whereof  we  also  know  the  name  of  Sir  Geoffrey, 
who  was  a  remote  ancestor  of  Sir  George  Talbot 
in  this  romance. 

By  the  same  token  shall  Eyam  be  remembered ; 
the  more,  perchance,  for  these  new  flowers  of 
romance  that  are  herein  planted  round  about  the 
gray-leaved  rosemary  of  a  bitter  remembrance. 


CHAPTER   TWENTY-FIVE 

HOLY  THURSDAY  AND   THE   DRESSING  OF  THE 
WELLS 

And  the  people  of  Eyam,  and  for  miles  round 
about,  gathered  together,  and  it  was  a  great  day 
in  the  mountain  village. 

The  visitors  trooped  in  from  Curbar,  Calver, 
Foolow,  Stony  Middleton,  and  even  from  Dron- 
field,  Baslow  and  Bakewell,  and  still  further 
afield;  for  the  Well-dressing  of  Eyam  was  of 
a  widespread  celebrity  throughout  the  northern 
part  of  Derbyshire,  and  the  advent  of  the  Italian 
artists  had  given  a  new  interest  to  the  festival. 

Early  in  the  forenoon  a  motley  and  picturesque 
crowd,  such  as  has  rarely  been  seen  in  English 
town  or  village,  promenaded  the  streets,  and  made 
critical  and  admiring  view  of  the  flowering  wells. 
The  dresses  of  both  men  and  women  were  a  mixt. 


THE  DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS  195 

ure  of  the  Puritan  and  the  Royalist.  Many  of 
them  had  taken  httle  heed  of  the  changes  from 
one  reign  to  the  other,  hving  outside  the  world, 
as  they  had  done  for  many  a  long  year,  they  and 
their  fathers  before  them.  The  higher  nobilit}^ 
of  the  Hundred,  who  were  represented  in  the 
throng,  though  sparsely,  had  donned  their  short 
cloaks  and  doublets,  their  silk  stockings,  and  felt 
hats  and  feathers. 

There  were  others  who  indulged  in  a  discreet 
compromise  between  the  Puritan  soldier  and  the 
Royalist  cavalier;  and  others  who  wore  their 
simple  civilian  gowns  and  Geneva  bands.  Sir 
George  Talbot  made  a  gallant  show,  and  the 
constable  carried  his  staff  of  office.  One  old 
lady,  attended  by  a  servant-man  no  less  oddly 
attired,  came  in  her  great  fardingale  of  the  days 
of  Elizabeth  and  James,  and  was  an  object  of 
respectful  wonder.  There  were  the  ordinary 
commonalty  of  women  in  their  simple  gowns 
and  hoods,  adorned,  now  and  then,  with  extra 
ribbons,  some  with  ruffs,  and  some  with  simple 
collars;  but  all  rosy  and  of  modest  mien. 

Mary  Talbot,  leaning  upon  the  arm  of  her 
father,  was  a  fascinating  picture  of  young  wo- 
manhood. She  was  somewhat  fantastically  at- 
tired, her  rich  brown  hair  escaping  in  curls  from 
a,  dainty  miniver  cap  fastened  with  a  pearl-headed 
gold  pin.  The  fan  at  her  girdle  hung  like  a  jewel 
upon  her  satin  gown,  and  her  gauntleted  gloves 
were  finely  embroidered,  as  was  also  her  bodice. 
It  was  instinctive  with  Mary  Talbot  that  she 
considered  her  figure  in  her  toilet,  her  small  well- 


190  THE   DAGGER   AND   THE    CROSS 

poiaetl  liead,  her  delicate  if  vvell-rouuded  bust, 
her  shapely  figure  rather  full  at  the  hips,  giv- 
ing an  idea  of  strength  and  generous  proportions. 
She  was  what  in  all  times  would  bo  called  a  fine 
woman;  but  with  a  certain  dignity  of  refinement 
that  comes  of  an  ancestry  of  rare  breeding. 

She  and  her  father  had  pleasant  words  for 
everybody.  They  examined  the  AVell-dressing 
together.  Only  Clegg  noticed  in  the  expression 
of  Mary's  usually  happy  countenance  an  un- 
wonted pensiveness.  He  thought  her  smile  was 
forced.  She  did  not  look  people  so  steadfastly 
in  the  eye  as  heretofore.  Clegg  only  noticed  this 
in  a  furtive  way,  for  he  did  his  best  to  avoid  her, 
but  wherever  she  might  be.  within  sight  or  hear 
ing,  he  felt  her  presence;  it  stirred  his  emotions 
as  the  wind  upon  an  .^olian  harp,  and  it  softened 
him. 

Poor  Mary  carried  her  secret  with  fear  and 
hope.  She  played  her  part  with  all  the  natural 
skill  of  her  sex,  but  she  felt  that  she  did  not  play 
it  well ;  she  longed  to  take  her  father  aside,  away 
from  the  crowd,  and  fling  herself  upon  his  neck 
and  weep,  all  the  time  watchful  for  the  coming 
of  Ziletto  and  his  Italian  compatriots.  He  had 
told  her  how  they  Avould  appear  in  procession 
together;  how  he  had  obtained  the  good  Father's 
permission  to  be  one  of  them.  She  knew  that  he 
and  Signor  Roubillac  were  not  on  intimate  terms, 
and  that  he  only  maintained  a  show  of  comrade- 
ship with  the  rest ;  but  she  had  every  reason  to 
believe  that  he  and  Father  Castelli  were  the  best 
of  friends 


THE  DAHGER   AND   THE   CROSS  197 

Clegg  was  a  striking  figure  in  the  throng. 
"He's  a  fine-looking  fellow,"  was  Sir  George's 
comment;  but  he  had  to  repeat  it  before  Mary- 
nodded  her  indorsement  of  the  remark.  Just  at 
the  moment  Mrs.  Clegg  appeared.  She  had  evi- 
dently come  into  the  village  alone,  and  was  look- 
ing for  her  son.  A.lwa3^s  neatly  and  becomingly 
dressed,  on  this  morning  of  the  Ascension  Mrs. 
Clegg  had  given,  with  her  neighbors,  special  at- 
tention to  her  toilet.  She  wore  a  tall  hat  of  a 
grayish  felt,  a  silk  gown  of  similar  tone,  frilled 
cuffs  matching  with  her  white  full  ruff,  and  her 
brown  untanned  shoes  were  adorned  with  silver 
buckles ;  these  latter  being  an  heirloom,  as  was 
C] egg's  sword.  In  the  technical  slang  of  mod- 
ern art, she  might  have  been  called  a  study  ing  ray. 

Mrs  Clegg  presented  herself  to  Sir  George  and 
Miss  Talbot  w^ith  a  modest  curtsey,  and  in  her 
soft,  clear  voice  exchanged  with  them  the  com- 
mon courtesy  of  passing  comments  on  the  weather, 
that  are  in  our  own  time  artful  aids  to  conversa- 
tion. 

Mary  Talbot  made  a  point  of  shaking  hands 
with  Reuben's  mother,  and  asking  if  she  were 
not  expecting  to  meet  her  son,  and  pointing  out 
where  he  stood,  at  some  distance,  talking  to  Vic- 
ars the  tailor. 

The  dear  old  lady  thanked  her,  and  made  for 
the  spot  where  her  son  towered  above  the  group 
(jf  villagers  and  guests,  not  so  much  by  his  height^ 
though  he  v^^as  more  than  ordinarily  tall,  but  by 
reason  of  his  striking  pei'sonality.  He  wore  a 
suit  of  black  cloth,  trimmed  with  velvet,  trunk 


108  THE   DAGGER  AND   THE   CROflS 

hose,  a  sciirf  about  his  waist,  long  boots  and  a 
brown  hat  with  a  silver  clasp,  in  which,  by  way 
of  tribute  to  Royalist  fashion,  he  had  stuck  an 
eagle's  feather.  But  that  he  was  a  far  finer  fig- 
ure, he  might  have  been  the  late  Protector  him- 
self in  the  fashion  of  his  clothes,  and  he  wore 
close  to  his  side  a  sword,  the  first  time  it  had 
been  seen  there ;  it  was  the  weapon  his  father 
had  carried  and  used  with  conspicuous  effect  in 
defense  of  the  Crown.  Besides  his  feather,  the 
trim  and  cut  of  his  light  brown  beard  was  an- 
other concession  to  the  new  reign,  pointed  at  the 
chin,  though  eschewing  the  mustache. 

The  contrast  between  Sir  George  in  his  Royal- 
ist clothes  and  Reuben  Clegg  in  his  more  somber 
suit  was  very  notable,  and  helped  to  give  pict- 
uresque form  and  color  to  the  village  throng. 
His  doublet  was  of  blue  satin,  fitting  rather 
closely  to  the  figure,  in  shape  not  unlike  the 
fatigue  jacket  of  a  modern  artilleryman.  He 
had  eschewed  the  usually  loose  sleeve  for  a  mod- 
erately cut  straight  one,  with  ruffles  at  the  wrist, 
and  he  carried  his  gloves  in  his  right  hand.  Nei- 
ther did  he  a  ffect  the  short  cloak  which  was  sported 
by  one  or  two  of  the  neighboring  gentry  in  great 
style.  He  wore  a  lace  collar,  silk  breeches  to 
match  his  doublet,  and  a  pair  of  soft  high  boots, 
his  rapier  swinging  from  a  plain  baldrick.  His 
headgear  was  a  Flemish  beaver  with  a  drooping 
feather,  almost  the  color  of  his  bushy  gray  hair. 
His  mustache  was  newly  barbered,  and  had  the 
cavalier  curl,  his  small  gray  beard  the  imperial 
point. 


THE   DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS  199 

There  was  in  Sir  George's  manner  something 
of  the  gayety  and  spirit  usually  associated  with 
the  Royalist  dress — the  hearty  laugh,  the  dash 
and  go  of  the  king's  reckless  followers;  though 
Sir  George  toned  down  these  characteristics,  that 
were  the  outcome  of  his  natural  bonhomie,  in 
deference  to  his  magisterial  capacity.  He  car- 
ried a  tall  walking-stick,  in  its  way  almost  as 
nnposing  as  the  constable's  staff  of  office. 

The  working  population  of  Eyam  consisted  of 
Clegg's  miners  and  a  few  weavers;  besides,  of 
course,  the  ordinary  traders,  farmers  and  tailors, 
the  latter  some  dozen,  most  employed  by  Vicars, 
who  was  honored  by  orders  from  many  of  the 
dignitaries  of  the  Hundred.  Once  or  twice  a 
year  he  had  parcels  of  patterns,  of  textiles  and 
of  ready-made  garments  of  the  latest  fashions, 
from  London.  The  toilers  of  the  district  were  in 
their  Sunday  clothes;  the  miners  chiefly  distin- 
guished by  their  leather  jerkins,  the  weavers  and 
others  in  simple  cloths,  nearly  all  with  belts  or 
girdles  that  carried  a  knife,  or,  as  in  the  case  of 
tradesmen,  often  a  memorandum  book. 

In  and  out  of  the  throng  children  and  young 
people  passed  to  and  fro  dressed  very  much  after 
the  fancy  and  means  of  their  parents ;  everybody, 
male  and  female,  young  and  old,  from  the  stand- 
point of  our  own  times,  looking  more  or  less  the- 
atrical, which,  by  the  way,  is  too  often  used  as  a 
term  of  reproach. 

But  the  scene  was  not  complete  until  the  Ital- 
ians entered  the  village  in  a  glittering  procession 
of  many  colors,  the  good  father  at  their  head  iu 


200  THE  DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS 

the  simplest  of  robes,  but  with  his  great  gold  and 
ivoiy  Cross  about  his  ueck.  Ziletto  in  purple 
velvet  and  silken  hose,  with  a  jeweled-hafted 
Spanish  sword  hanging  from  a  magnificent 
sword-belt,  worn  sashwise  over  the  right  shoul- 
der after  the  manner  of  Sir  George's  baldrick, 
but  so  embroidered  and  enriched  with  gems  that 
it  was  the  one  conspicuous  thing  in  his  costume. 
He  walked  by  the  side  of  the  priest,  his  swarthy- 
complexion  shining  in  the  sun,  his  eyes  under  the 
dark  lashes  bright  as  the  jewel  at  his  neck — a  re- 
markable figure,  lithe  of  limb  and  alert  of  man- 
ner. We,  who  know  of  that  encounter  between 
him  and  Clegg,  can  only  wonder  that,  backed 
with  such  dexterous  knowledge  and  skill  of 
fence,  he  should  not  have  overcome  his  enemy. 

As  Ziletto  leisurely  marched  into  the  village 
with  his  compatriots,  Clegg  stood  apart  on  a  lit- 
tle rising  ground  and  watched  him  with  cold, 
not  to  say  malevolent,  eyes.  He  did  not  see 
Mary,  who,  with  her  father,  stood  within  the 
low  sweeping  branches  of  a  darkening  beech; 
nor  did  Sir  George  note  the  beating  of  her  heart, 
though  she  clung  closer  to  his  arm,  as,  in  the  dis- 
tance, could  be  heard  the  music  of  the  approach- 
ing instrumentalists  making  their  way  from  Cal- 
ver  by  the  glen. 

The  Italian  procession  pressed  on  to  the  Green 
and  there  broke  up,  each  member,  man  and  wo- 
man, making  for  the  Wells,  to  criticise  the  rival 
decorations,  Francesca,  with  a  drooping  veil, 
something  like  a  corona  that  might  have  been 
worn  by  a  princess  of  the  blood,  walking  by  the 


THE  DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  201 

side  of  Roubillac,  her  hand  in  his,  the  rich  gold 
brocade  of  her  trailing  gown  a  wonder  of  textile 
perfection.  Roubillac  held  his  head  high  and 
carried  himself  with  an  acted  repose  of  mind,  for 
his  soul  was  even  more  troubled  than  that  of 
Mary  Talbot,  not  only  by  reason  of  the  gnawing 
pangs  of  jealousy  and  hatred  of  Ziletto,  but  on 
account  of  the  unholy  compact  and  conspiracy 
that  his  mad  unreasoning  love  had  induced  him 
to  enter  into,  a  sacrifice  of  more  than  honor  and 
an  act  of  selfish  folly  beyond  all  palliation. 

Roubillac  and  Francesca  were  viewing  New- 
bold 's  Gothic  design,  when  Ziletto  took  occa- 
sion to  address  them  with  great  show  of  def- 
erence and  to  compliment  Roubillac  upon  his 
ornamentation  of  Clegg's  Well.  All  the  time 
his  dark  eyes  were  upon  the  angelic  face  of 
Francesca,  who  observed  a  demure  demeanor, 
while  Roubillac  felt  the  hot  blood  rush  through 
his  veins,  and  the  old  murderous  thought  he  had 
confessed  to  Pisani,  the  swordsman,  once  more 
leaped  into  his  mind. 

"We  thank  you,  Signor  Ziletto,"  said  Roubil- 
lac, with  all  the  patience  he  could  command,  "and 
would  prefer  to  be  left  to  our  own  societj^  and  to 
our  own  thoughts." 

Francesca  heard  the  words  without  seeming  to 
do  so,  and  Ziletto,  with  ;i  bow,  replied : 

"Signor  Comrade.  I  had  hoped  we  were  friends, 
if  not  in  very  truth  at  least  in  outward  show ;  be- 
hold, these  boorish  English  are  watching  us,  a 
staring  open  mouthed  group  of  them,  and  be- 
neath yonder  tree,  also  looking  this  way,  are  Sir 


202      THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

George  Talbot  and  the  lady  herself  whom  they 
call  the  beauty  of  Eyam." 

Ziletto  gabbled  on  to  prevent  Roubillac  burst- 
ing out  with  the  reply  of  repudiated  friendship 
that  was  on  his  lips,  and  at  the  mention  of  Mary 
Talbot,  Francesca  came  down  from  the  skies, 
and  turned  her  face  in  the  direction  of  the  spot 
where  Sir  George  and  Mary  were  standing.  Sir 
George,  noting  the  movement,  said,  "Come, 
Mary,  we  must  go  and  speak  to  these  people,'* 
and  Mary,  her  heart  beating  wildly,  suffered 
herself  to  be  led  into  the  open.  The  Italians 
faced  them,  Sir  George  doffing  his  plumed  hat, 
the  Italians  gracefully  acknowledging  the  saluta- 
tion, the  two  ladies  curtseying  to  each  other  with 
great  formality,  Roubillac  formally  presenting 
his  wife  to  Miss  Talbot,  Sir  George  as  formally 
presenting  Mary.  The  others  had  met  before. 
Ziletto  responded  to  Sir  George's  congratulations 
upon  his  work  no  less  gravely  than  Roubillac  on 
similar  grounds,  for  Sir  George  was  eloquent  in 
praise  of  both  Clegg's  Well  and  the  Manor  House 
Spring. 

Tlie  two  women  examined  each  other  with 
undisguised  curiosity.  They  both  took  each 
other  into  their  critical  consciousness  before  they 
spoke  a  word.  Francesca  was  impressed  on 
Mary  Talbot's  mind  as  a  strangely  wild  and 
beautiful  personality,  that  was  only  heightened 
by  close  perusal  of  her  dark  face,  though  Mary 
found  it  difficult  to  keep  her  eyes  away  from  her 
splendid  gold  brocade  and  a  trinket  studded  with 
various  gems  pendent  from  a  delicately  woven 


THE   DAGGER   AXD   THE    CROSS  203 

gold  chain  about  her  neck.  Francesca,  notwith- 
standing the  impulse  of  jealousy  that  Ziletto  had 
purposely  aroused  in  her,  found  the  fair  face  of 
the  English  girl  full  of  a  simple,  frank,  healthful 
beauty  that  invited  confidence  and  did  not  sug- 
gest rivalry.  The  two  ^vomen  liked  each  other 
at  sight;  their  hearts  went  out  one  to  the  other, 
and  Mary  began  to  talk  with  a  freedom  that 
brought  a  happy  but  questioning  smile  to  the 
ruddy  lips  of  the  woman  of  Verona.  She  could, 
however,  only  speak  a  few  words  in  English, 
but  to  her  aid  came  Roubillac,  ostentatiously 
taking  the  words  of  interpretation  out  of  the 
mouth  of  Ziletto,  w^hose  bitter  glance  of  annoy- 
ance was  promptly  changed  to  a  politic  smilco 
He  turned  to  Sir  George,  with  the  remark  that 
his  friend  and  compatriot,  Signor  Roubillac,  had 
learned  English  of  the  famous  tutor  of  the  Va- 
lieros  at  Venice,  "and  speaks  it  admirably,  do 
you  not  think  so?" 

"I  wish  I  could  speak  Italian  half  as  well," 
said  Sir  George,  at  the  same  time,  with  a  glance 
toward  the  church,  remarking:  "The  rector  is 
assembling  his  parishioners;  the  procession  is 
about  to  be  formed ;  the  band  of  the  Hundred  is 
taking  its  place ;  we  must  take  our  places  too, 
ladies;  but  let  us  consider  this  present  meeting 
only  adjourned." 

Tlion  the  Italians  bowed  to  the  English  knight 
and  his  daughter;  they  responded,  and  Mar}^ 
w^ith  a  parting  glance  of  love  at  Ziletto  (who 
was  occupied  in  trying  to  catch  the  eye  of  Fran- 
cesca), walked  away  to  join  the  crowd  that  was 


204  THE   DAGGER   AKD   THF,   CROSS 

now  being  marshaled  by  the  constable  and  the 
committee  of  churchmen  and  villagers. 

The  rector  was  in  his  surplice,  and  not  far 
away,  in  the  midst  of  a  small  group  of  cloaked 
and  very  soberly-dressed  supporters,  the  ejected 
minister,  the  late  rector,  George  Stanley,  was 
seen  in  his  dark  vestments  of  the  Puritan  order, 
over  which  he  wore,  in  honor  of  Calvin  and  to 
assist  the  decorative  character  of  the  procession, 
a  Geneva  cloak. 

Mr.  Stanley  was  an  old  man,  his  hair  long 
and  thick,  a  grizzled  gray,  and  his  beard  was 
untrimmed.  He  wore  a  skullcap,  and  carried  a 
Bible  in  his  hand.  The  Orthodox  irdrty  thought 
Mr.  Stanley  would  have  been  wise  to  have  taken 
his  part  in  the  procession  without  any  ecclesias- 
tical display,  seeing  that  he  had  been  inhibited 
from  his  lioly  office,  and  that  it  was  a  crime  for 
him  and  his  followers  to  meet  together  for  public 
or  even  private  worship;  but  Eyam,  as  we  have 
seen,  was  tolerant  of  these  things.  Moreover, 
Mr.  Stanley  v/as  held  in  great  esteem;' he  had 
borne  adversity  with  humility  and  resignation ; 
and,  moreover,  even  Papistry  was  not  as  yet 
hung  and  drawn  and  quartered  as  in  later  days 
in  the  Hundred  of  the  High  Peak,  though  the 
time  came  when  it  paid  dearly  for  its  own  perse- 
cutions in  the  Peak.  These  tragedies,  however, 
do  not  belong  to  these  present  records;  and  the 
band  is  already  filling  the  sonorous  air  v/ith  .the 
strains  of  a  processional  march. 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  205 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-SIX 

Looking  back  upon  that  remarkable  proces- 
sion and  the  crowd  of  spectators,  the  village  life 
of  our  own  day  is  singularly  prosaic  by  com- 
parison. 

Derbyshire  folk  are  strange  people  even  now; 
have  oddly  characteristic  ways;  speak  not  only 
a  curious  dialect,  but  in  antiquated  idioms ;  and 
in  districts  outside  railways,  often  adhere  to  the 
habits  and  dress  of  a  remote  past.  Smock- 
frocks,  clogs,  pattens,  swallow-tailed  coats,  short 
capes  in  the  daytime,  are  still  common;  and 
Wellington  boots,  high  stocks,  and  leggings  in 
all  weathers,  are  not  deemed  unfashionable  where 
fashion  is  unknown. 

What  wonder  then,  if,  two  hundred  years 
ago,  the  people  of  the  Peak  were  in  many  cases 
behindhand  with  the  tailoring  and  millinery  of 
Charles  and  his  queen? 

It  was  an  unconventional  procession  as  regards 
marching  order.     The  people  and  local    digni 
taries  fell  in  how  they  pleased,   after  the  con- 
stable had  taken  the  lead  followed  by  the  band. 

The  latter  were  attired  in  ordinary  civilian 
dress,  with  the  exception  of  a  uniform  hat  and 
feather.  The  drummer,  it  is  true,  wore  his 
military  uniform.  He  had  beaten  the  charge  in 
more  than  one  Royalist  victory. 

Among  the  processionists  were  a  few  dis- 
banded Buldiers.     They  wore  their  breastplates, 


206  THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS 

that  flashed  back  the  rays  of  the  sun.  There 
was  a  royal  standard  bearer.  The  gold  of  his 
flag  shone  out  regally.  Around  his  banner 
floated  a  dozen  smaller  flags  carried  by  Eyam- 
ites,  whose  ranks  were  varied  by  village  maid- 
ens, dressed  in  their  best  and  each  carrying  a 
bouquet. 

Sir  George  Talbot  attended  by  his  clerk,  and 
the  rector  in  his  surplice  and  attended  by  his 
clerk  (the  "Amen  man,"  as  they  called  him), 
were  in  the  procession;  as  were  also  Clegg's 
miners  and  the  few  weavers,  tailors  and  trades- 
men of  the  village,  each  company  with  its  tiny 
banner,  suggesting  in  a  small  way  the  dignity 
of  a  trade  guild.  It  was,  indeed,  all  in  a  small 
way,  compared  with  the  pageantry  of  a  great 
city;  but  it  was  singularly  picturesque.  The 
tail  end  of  the  parade  was  brought  up  by  the 
visitors,  or  any  other  persons  who  chose  to  fol- 
low. Among  those  who  thus  fell  in  were  many 
locally  notable  persons,  several  of  them  men  and 
women  in  the  costume  of  the  Tudors;  the  men 
in  their  slashed  doublets,  open  at  the  breast  to 
show  their  lawn  shirts,  the  women  attired  after 
the  manner  of  the  old  lady  already  mentioned, 
in  fardingales  and  tall  head-dresses. 

Outside  the  pageant,  but  unconsciously  form- 
ing a  feature  of  it  for  historical  note,  stood  the 
ItaUans  in  their  gay  attire,  and  the  solemn  little 
group  of  Presbyterians  surrounding  their  ejected 
pastor,  Mr.  Stanley.  These,  however,  were  on 
fairly  good  terms  with  the  Mompesson  people, 
and  exchanged  greetings  as  the  procession  passed 


THE   BAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  207 

by.  They  formed  an  effective  background  for 
the  dresses  and  sallow  faces  of  the  Italians,  who 
preseritly  walked  at  a  little  distance  from  the 
procession,  and  pa.used  at  the  Wells  to  listen  to 
the  blessing  offered  up  by  the  Rev.  George 
Mompesson.  They  stood  bareheaded,  with  rev- 
erential respect.  Ziletto,  his  cap  in  his  hand,  had 
stationed  himself  by  the  side  of  the  priest,  and 
commented  upon  the  simplicity  of  the  scene. 
What  would  Florence,  what  would  Venice  have 
made  of  such  a  festival?  And  he  pictured  the 
city  fathers  in  their  gorgeous  robes,  the  soldiers 
and  sailors  in  theirs,  maidens  scattering  flowers, 
banners  of  brilliant  hues,  Father  Castelli  fore- 
most in  the  pageant,  the  banners  of  the  Cross 
preceding  the  great  dignitaries  of  the  Church, 
their  holy  regalia  vjnng  in  grandeur  with  that 
of  the  Civic  Guilds  of  Italy,  the  vestments  of 
her  great  dignitaries  outshining  the  rarest  tro- 
phies of  the  noblest  gardens.  Nevertheless,  the 
esthetic  emotions  of  their  compatriots  were 
stirred  by  the  simple  beauty  of  the  English 
scene ;  and  the  hearts  of  the  natives  were  deeply 
moved  in  the  service  that  followed  beneath  the 
roof  of  the  parish  church,  that  was  ancient  even 
then.  Thej'  listened,  with  something  of  a  new- 
found understanding,  to  the  simple  eloquence  of 
the  new  pastor,  who  brought  down  to  them, 
through  the  ascended  Christ,  a  heaven  upon 
earth,  dwelling  upon  the  impression  the  earth 
had  made  upon  Christ  Himself,  how  He  loved 
it,  His  delight  in  gardens,  how  He  prayed  among 
the  flowers,  His  Sabbath  day  rambles  at  harvest, 


208  THE  DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS 

His  tribute  to  the  beauty  of  the  Hly  of  the  field, 
His  humanity,  how  He  feasted  with  humble 
dignity  among  the  poor,  His  love  of  children. 

It  was  a  strange  sermon,  the  people  said,  be- 
cause it  wanted  no  learning  to  understand  it; 
and  it  made  out  that  folk  need  not  be  miserable 
if  they  were  religious;  that  God  did  not  give 
them  beautiful  flowers,  the  mountain  and  the 
moor,  the  river  and  the  spring,  the  music  of 
pure  waters  and  the  blessings  thereof,  to  be 
wretched  about.  He  gave  them  for  their  good 
enjoyment  and  each  other ;  He  made  them  neigh- 
bors for  comfortable  society,  and  the  seasons  for 
variety  of  beauty  and  use ;  and  it  was  a  happy 
and  beautiful  coincidence  that  brought  about 
the  celebration  of  the  Ascension  at  this  time  of 
flowers  and  full  springs.  Christ  had  told  them 
to  take  no  thought  for  the  morrow,  which  He 
interpreted  as  a  message  of  Faith  in  the  Mercy 
and  Justice  and  Love  of  the  Father;  and  with  the 
parable  of  the  lilies  that  are  arrayed  more  beauti- 
fully than  Solomon  in  all  his  glory,  he  moved 
them  to  think  of  the  certainty  that,  however 
dark  the  night,  the  sun  would  shine  on  the  mor- 
row, however  sterile  the  winter,  spring  would 
surely  follow — spring  and  summer,  and  autumn 
with  her  fruits  and  corn  and  all  her  store  of 
wealth  for  the  winter  barns  and  threshing-floors. 
And  then  he  encouraged  them  to  a  full  justifica- 
tion of  dance  and  song,  and  such  joyous  exercise 
as  belonged  to  honest  festival,  with  the  Scriptural 
declaration  that  there  is  a  time  for  all  things; 
and  this  was  their  time  to  rejoice  and  be  glad. 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  209 

And  there  had  not,  in  the  remembrance  of  the 
oldest  inha,bitant,  been  such  gayety  after  service 
on  Ascension  Day  as  upon  this  memorable  occa- 
sion. 

After  church  the  villagers  returned  to  their 
homes,  and  there  they  feasted  their  guests,  with 
right  honest  food  and  drink;  and  all  the  after- 
noon the  men  sat  in  the  doorways  or  under  the 
trees,  and  smoked  their  pipes,  and  the  women 
gossiped  and  compared  notes  on  the  gowns  they 
most  admired. 

Mary  Talbot  sat  at  the  head  of  her  father's 
table.  Ziletto  joined  in  the  feast  at  the  Crown 
and  Anchor,  to  which  he  had  contributed  its 
rarest  feature,  sundry  bottles  of  white  wine. 

Mr.  Stanley  and  his  flock  broke  bread  together 
in  the  humble  abode  of  the  Widow  Steadfast, 
and  lamented  the  extravagance  of  the  times  and 
the  ungodliness  thereof. 

Reuben  Clegg  and  his  mother  entertained 
several  guests  with  generous  hospitality. 

The  Italians  returned  to  the  Old  Hall,  and 
made  merry  in  the  refectory  thereof. 

On  the  village  green  the  stalls  and  booths 
were  open  to  the  wondering  gaze  of  the  young 
people. 

Sir  George  Talbot  feasted  the  bandsmen  and 
many  others  in  the  great  barn  of  the  Crown  and 
Anchor,  sending  for  that  purpose  two  mighty 
venison  pasties  from  his  own  kitchen  and  several 
barrels  of  old  ale. 

Mr.  Clegg  provided  dinner  for  his  miners  in 
the  garden  of  his  headman's  cottage;   and  by 


210      THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

noontide,  Eyam  was  one  scene  of  feasting  and 
good  comradeship. 

Above  the  joyousness  of  the  time,  and  while 
the  sunshine  was  most  divine,  the  air  filled  with 
the  perfume  of  the  flowers  and  exclamation  of  a 
proper  mirth,  the  shadow  of  a  tragedy  hovered 
over  the  village;  and  it  overcast  the  dancing. 
No  one  saw  it,  or  dreamed  of  it,  except  one  man ; 
though  beneath  an  outward  show  of  joy  two 
hearts  beat  sadly  to  the  measure  of  their  own 
pathetic  music. 

None  were  more  envied  or  admired  that  day, 
for  their  beauty  and  their  fine  clothes,  than 
Francesca  Roubillac  and  Mary  Talbot;  none 
were  so  unhappy. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-SEVEN 

THE     DANCING,     AND    AFTERWARD 

It  was  the  devil  in  Ziletto's  nature  that  in- 
spired him  to  incite  these  two  women  to  an  un- 
natural jealousy,  the  devil  whose  poison  was 
vanity  and  lust. 

The  dancing  began  shortly  before  sunset,  and 
was  continued  into  the  twilight,  the  green  hav- 
ing been  mown  and  swept  and  rolled  for  the 
purpose  every  day  for  a  month  prior  to  the  fes- 
tival. The  booths  and  stalls  on  the  edge  of  the 
turf  were  cut  off  with  a  fence  of  ropes. 

A  rough  kind  of  wooden  inclosure  was  erected 
close  by  the  village  cross  for  light  refreshmentb, 


THE   DAGUrER  AND   THE   CROSS  211 

and  the  musicians  were  elevated  upon  a  platform 
of  timber.  The  measures  were  simple,  some  of 
them  quite  formal,  others  a  merry  kind  of  barn- 
romp,  with  quaint  figures;  and  now  and  then  a 
solo  or  a  duet  was  contrived  in  order  to  show  off 
the  step-dancing  of  local  experts. 

While  Ziletto  appeared  to  be  in  full  attendance 
upon  Miss  Talbot,  when  the  dancing  began  he 
suddenly  took  the  opportunity  to  withdraw  from 
her  in  favor  of  one  of  the  most  distinguished  of 
the  visitors,  and  made  straightway  to  Francesca, 
whose  hand  he  solicited  for  the  first  measure, 
which  was  a  country  dance,  not  unlike  what  a 
country  dance  is  to  this  day.  Signora  Roubilhic 
had  observed  with  what  homage  Ziletto  had  pre- 
sented himself  to  Miss  Talbot,  how  he  seemed  to 
humble  himself  to  her  father,  and  how  Mary's 
eyes  had  lighted  up  with  undisguised  pleasure 
the  moment  Ziletto  had  appeared  upon  the  Green. 

Roubillac  had  stepped  aside  to  speak  to  Sir ' 
George  Talbot,  and  turning  to  conduct  his  wife 
forward,  in  response  to  Sir  George's  expressed 
desire  to  make  her  his  partner  in  the  inaugural 
dance  of  the  festival,  had  the  mortification  to  see 
her  moving  to  her  place  escorted  by  Ziletto. 
R®ubillac  thereupon  invited  the  wife  of  one  of 
his  compatriots  to  be  his  vis-a-vis,  and  her  hus- 
band, with  the  grace  of  his  nation,  swept  the 
ground  with  his  hat  as  he  bowed  to  Miss  Talbot, 
and  was  accepted  by  the  English  belle,  whose 
eyes,  however,  followed  Ziletto. 

Gradually  the  two  lines  of  dancers  were  filled, 
the  males  on  one  side,  the  females  on  the  other. 


212  THE  I»AGGER  AND   THE   CROSS 

Mr.  Mompesson  and  his  wife  were  present.  His 
presence  was  a  good  influence,  though  it  sup- 
pressed nothing  of  the  honest  mirth  of  the  time. 
There  was  the  usual  laughter  over  mistakes  and 
the  contretemps  that  invariably  occur  in  a  round 
dance  where  mauj-  are  engaged.  Mrs.  Clegg 
had  induced  Reuben  to  take  part  with  the  rest. 
It  was  under  her  influence  that  Clegg  had 
dressed  himself  so  impressively.  But  he  insisted 
upon  having  his  mother  for  his  partner.  It  was 
a  pleasant  sight  to  see  the  tall,  serious-looking, 
manly  fellow  taking  the  Quaker-like  old  dame 
with  faultless  steps  through  the  measure,  leading 
her  backward  and  forward,  and  up  and  down, 
now  to  part  and  unite  again.  More  than  once 
his  hand  and  Mary's  touched;  and  the  contact 
thrilled  him.  Then  Mary  found  her  hand  in 
Ziletto's,  and  her  face  flushed,  to  pale  again  as 
she  saw  with  what  ardor  he  carried  off  Francesca 
in  the  whirling  maze. 

"Nay,  if  he  kill  me,  I  cannot  but  love  thee," 
Ziletto  had  whispered  in  Francesca's  ear;  and 
she  in  return  had  responded  with  a  gentle  taunt 
of  his  evident  passion  for  the  English  beauty. 
He  had  whispered  with  a  scornful  smile  that  a 
stranger  in  this  barren  spot  must  have  amuse- 
ment. 

Francesca  found  herself  forgetting  all  the  world 
except  her  partner.  Though  she  did  not  look  at 
him  she  felt  that  his  eyes  were  riveted  upou 
her;  that  they  searched  her  very  soul;  her  feet 
seemed  to  move  mechanically  in  the  dance,  but 
with  a  strange  hghtness. 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  213 

Once  or  twice  she  saw  the  face  of  Mary  Talbot 
flit  by;  and  though  there  was  only  a  pathetic 
expression  in  Mary's  countenance,  Francesca 
saw  it  as  one  of  defiance  and  triumph. 

The  old  time  came  back  to  her,  when  first  she 
saw  Ziletto  in  Venice  and  had  felt  what  it  was 
to  love.  For  good'  or  ill,  Ziletto  had  been  th*^ 
first  to  stir  Francesca's  maiden  heart.  She  had 
met  him  thrice,  once  b}"  accident,  twice  by  ap- 
pointment, before  it  came  into  her  mind  to 
resist  him,  bafore  she  confessed  to  Father  Lo- 
renzo, and  then  to  her  husband;  and  now,  all  in 
a  moment,  Ziletto  had  revived  that  first  dizzy 
sense  of  love  or  passion,  whichever  it  may  be 
called,  that  had  come  to  her  after  she  had  mar- 
ried Roubillac,  which  she  had  done  out  of  pity 
cr  complaisance  or  gratitude,  or  for  the  reason 
that  she  admired  Roubillac's  art  and  he  had 
begged  so  hard.  Before  the  dance  was  finished, 
Ziletto  had  won  from  her  a  promise  to  meet  him 
the  next  day ;  and,  though  one  must  do  her  the 
justice  to  say  that  before  the  night  was  over  she 
repented  and  resolved  not  to  meet  him,  all  the 
mischief  was  done. 

Roubillac,  conducting  his  little  Italian  country- 
woman through  the  dance,  had  appeared  to  be 
absorbed  in  the  music ;  but  he  had  kept  a  careful 
watch  on  Ziletto,  and  had  overheard  the  result 
of  his  rival's  i)roposal. 

Meanwhile  swinging  througn  the  dance,  Sir 
George  Tallrot  and  his  partner  were  conspicuous 
for  their  agility,  as  were  Mr.  Mompesson  and 
his  wife  for  their  formality.     Sir  George  had 


214  THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS 

honored  Miss  Dakin,  the  constable's  daughter, 
by  taking  her  as  his  partner;  and  his  guests 
had  found  no  difficulty  in  finding  comely  and 
desirable  companions. 

It  was  a  right  joyful  dance.  The  ball  once 
open,  the  fun  waxed  hot  and  the  air  was  full  of 
laughter.  The  rector  withdrew  after  a  while, 
and  so  likewise  did  the  more  sedate  of  the  vil- 
lagers and  friends;  but  Ziletto  and  Miss  Talbot 
continued  among  the  party  until  it  became  a 
moonlight  dance,  strange  shadows  seeming  to 
take  part  in  it,  the  shadows  of  the  elms  and  the 
poplars,  bats  now  and  then  gyrating  in  a  weird 
flight  overhead.  Reuben  Clegg  had,  however, 
taken  his  mother  home.  Sir  George  had  left  his 
daughter  in  charge  of  a  squire  of  Baslow. 

At  the  first  opportunity,  as  the  twilight  faded 
into  the  moonlit  night,  Roubillac  had  withdrawn 
his  wife,  without  a  word  spoken  on  either  side. 
He  took  her  hand  with  a  grip  that  was  strong 
and  imperative,  and  she  knew  he  had  divined 
what  had  passed.  It  was  her  misfortune  only 
to  be  strong  and  frank  and  dutiful  when  she 
was  by  his  side.  She  felt  safe  and  happy  with 
him;  happy  in  a  subdued,  childish  way.  He 
was  her  protector.  There  was  nothing  he  would 
not  do  for  her,  nothing  he  could  not  do,  except 
to  free  her  from  the  power  of  Ziletto,  the  mo- 
ment that  master  of  hearts  chose  to  put  out  his 
strange,  unholy  power.  More  than  once  during 
the  dancing  she  had  felt  a  desire  to  rush  to  her 
husband  for  protection;  but  Ziletto's  eyes  held 
her,  his  touch  was  a  fetter  that  had  magic  in  it- 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  215 

a  something  she  could  not  resist.  There  was  a 
music  in  his  voice  that  had  the  power  to  charm 
away  all  the  world  but  himself ;  it  was  as  if  she 
dreamed  a  dream  of  music  and  flowers,  and 
angel  voices  and  peace. 

"I  could  not  help  it,  Bernardo — I  am  sorry, 
and  do  repent  me,"  she  said,  as  they  passed 
under  the  trees  into  the  roadway,  where  one  of 
Lady  Bradshaw's  quaint  vehicles,  which  they 
called  chariots  at  Eyam,  was  in  waiting.  It  had 
brought  Francesca  to  the  dancing,  and  Eou- 
billac  had  given  the  postilion  a  gold  piece  to 
keep  his  horses  in  the  shafts  and  wait  until  the 
signora  should  be  ready  to  return.  Roubillac 
would  not  have  her  fatigued,  or  run  the  risk 
of  walking  through  the  dewy  night  across  the 
meadow  and  moorland  path,  which  the  others 
found  so  lovely  on  this  still,  sweet  night  of  the 
early  summer. 

"What  did  happen,  Francesca?" 

"Nay,  thou  knowest,"  she  replied;  "and  it 
grieves  me  to  the  heart." 

She  leaned  her  head  upon  his  shoulder. 

"Again,  dearest,  I  ask  what  did  happen?" 

"I  saw  your  dear  pained  face  as  the  words 
fell  from  my  lips;  I  know  that  you  heard  them. 
I  am  a  most  unhappy  woman.  Why  does  God 
make  that  which  is  beautiful  to  be  a  snare  to 
our  feet?" 

"We  will  leave  this  place,  Francesca." 

' '  I  care  not, ' '  she  said. 

"Will  you  go?" 

"Oh,  yes,  anywhere;   what  matters  where?" 


216      THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

"Do  you  mean  that  wherever  you  go  you  love 
that  inaiiV" 

Roubillac  spoke  with  a  pitying  accent,  ae  if 
he  adch'essed  a  child — a  daughter  rather  than  a 
wife. 

"Our  Blessed  Mary  forgive  me!  I  do  not 
know  what  it  is;  but,  oh,  until  this  night  I 
swear  he  had  gone  out  of  my  thoughts.  Oh, 
Bernardo,  how  you  must  hate  me!" 

"Hate  you?  My  love,  my  blessing,  there  is 
nothing  in  the  world  you  could  do  that  would 
make  me  hate  you!  My  God!  I  believe  if  yon- 
der ruffian  were  an  honest  man,  kindly,  worthy, 
with  a  heart  and  some  shred  of  conscience,  and 
you  said  it  was  for  your  happiness,  1  could  give 
you  up  to  him — if  I  killed  myself  afterward. 
But  he  is  a  fiend,  a  wretch;  'twere  to  dishonor 
the  beasts  of  the  field  to  liken  him  unto  one  of 
them.  Oh,  but  I  am  rightly  served,  miserable 
sinner  that  I  am!" 

"How  rightly  served?  How  a  miserable  sin- 
ner?" said  Francesca.  "Thou  art  the  noblest 
and  truest  man  I  have  ever  known,  not  forget- 
ting my  own  father,  God  rest  his  soul!" 

"Come  to  thy  chamber,"  said  Roubillac,  when 
they  had  reached  the  Old  Hall.  "Where  is  thy 
woman?" 

"Here,  worthy  signer,"  said  the  devoted  ser- 
vant, who  had  followed  them  up  the  stairway. 

"Be  careful  of  thy  mistress;  she  is  fatigued," 
said  Roubillac,  addressing  the  woman.  "I  will 
return  to  the  village,  and  see  to  the  well-being 
of  our  compatriots." 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  1^17 

By  the  time  he  reached  the  village,  the  danc- 
ing was  at  an  end.  The  last  strains  of  the  music 
had  died  away.  The  booths  and  stalls  were 
closed.  The  bats  and  night  owls  had  the  Green 
all  to  themselves.  A  lamp  was  burning  before 
Roubillac's  trophy  at  Clegg's  well.  The  water 
was  running  into  the  great  basin  with  a  soothing 
sound.  The  dim  light  gave  to  the  dressing  of 
the  spring  the  effect  of  a  holy  shrine.  Roubillac 
paused  for  a  moment,  as  if  only  to  sigh.  Lights 
gleamed  in  many  of  the  cottage  windows.  Rou- 
billac found  that  most  of  his  people  had  wan- 
dered homeward.  He  stood  for  a  while  outside 
the  Crown  and  Anchor,  where  a  group  of  vil- 
lagers had  congregated.  Ziletto  had  been  in- 
duced to  favor  a  few  of  the  more  influential 
persons  of  the  village  with  a  song.  They  sat, 
open-mouthed,  like  beings  in  a  dream.  Orpheus, 
with  his  lute,  might  have  been  exercising  his 
magic  upon  them. 

"A  godless,  impenitent  miserable!"  said 
Father  Castelli,  coming  out  of  the  shadow  of 
the  trees  close  by,  and  taking  Roubillac's  arm. 
"Nay,  I  know  thou  art  thinking  so!" 

"You  here,  my  father!"  said  Roubillac,  as  the 
priest  led  him  away. 

"I  came  with  thine  own  purpose,  my  son — to 
see  if  all  our  friends  had  gone  home  to  their  beds, 
and  they  have,  like  the  good  creatures  they  are. 
A  more  gentle,  lovable  flock  no  unworthy  priest 
was  ever  blest  withal." 

"It  is  a  night  for  meditation,"  said  Roubillac. 

"Come,  then,  and  let  us  commune  with  each 


218  THE   DAGGER  AND   THE   VllOSS, 

otlier,"  replied  the  priest,  "so  shall  we  finish 
this  interesting  day  worthily.  Ah,  my  son,  if 
these  people  were  only  within  the  pale!" 

It  was  indeed  a  night,  it  would  seem,  for  cogi- 
tation. Reuben  Clegg  stood  aside,  by  the  old 
cross,  that  he  might  not  be  noted  by  Roubillac 
and  the  priest.  Clegg  had  been  invited  to  sup 
with  Sir  George,  but  had  declined  the  i)rofifered 
hospitality. 

When  his  mother  had  said  her  prayers  and 
retired  to  rest,  Reuben  had  sallied  forth  and 
walked  back  to  the  village.  He  had  paused  by 
the  Manor  House.  There  were  lights  in  almost 
every  window.  He  had  avoided,  as  much  as 
possible,  being  seen  by  any  one;  though  the 
constable  had  noted  him  on  the  other  side  of 
the  road,  watching  the  Crown  and  Anchor  and 
listening  to  the  singing  of  the  Italian, 

Clegg  walked  past  the  church  and  the  Green 
and  back  again,  as  if  uncertain  of  purpose. 

By  degrees  the  village  lights  disappeared ;  and 
it  was  evident  that  at  the  Manor  House  they 
were  going  to  bed.  The  gardener  had,  indeed, 
been  requisitioned  to  lend  Sir  George's  man  a 
hand  in  assisting  the  guests  to  bed.  The  ladies 
had  retired  soon  after  supper,  which  had  been 
served  at  an  unusually  late  hour.  The  men  had 
sat  over  their  cups  until  nearly  eleven  o'clock, 
and  more  than  one  of  them  was  literally  under 
the  table. 

It  would  be  at  about  the  time  that  the  last 
man  had  staggered  to  his  couch,  when  Ziletto 
cautiously  opening  his  chamber  window,  looked 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS      21^ 

out  into  tlie  niglit,  A  few  clouds  had  beaten  up 
from  the  west,  now  and  then  obscuring  the 
moon.  Beneath  the  window  of  the  Crown  and 
Anchor's  best  and  indeed  only  guest  chamber, 
was  the  fringe  of  a  flower  garden  that  straggled 
into  vegetables  and  ended  in  a  ragged  orchard. 
It  was  a  comparatively  short  drop  from  the  win- 
dow to  the  ground.  Any  one  making  use  of  the 
window  instead  of  a  dour  was  not  impeded  by  an 
overhanging  sill.  There  was  a  deep  ledge  inside. 
The  window  was  heavily  recessed  in  the  wall. 
Ziletto  climbed  into  the  recess;  then,  dropping 
his  cloak,  quietly  followed  it  with  an  easy  facility 
that  betokened  practice  of  the  feat.  He  came  to 
the  ground  rather  heavily,  but  without  any  real 
inconvenience.  On  retiring  to  rest,  which  he 
had  done  before  all  the  inn's  guests  had  smoked 
their  last  pipes,  he  had  ostentatiously  warned 
them  to  make  no  noise,  for  he  was  fatigued  and 
hoped  for  a  good  night's  sleep.  They  had  all 
wished  him  pleasant  dreams  and  taken  the  hint 
to  go  home.  Mrs.  Radford  had  soon  afterward 
heard  Ziletto  fasten  his  door  and  retire,  she  and 
the  rest  of  the  house  soon  following  the  Italian's 
example. 

As  he  stood  beneath  the  window,  gathering 
up  his  cloak,  he  smiled  to  think  how  tamely  the 
natives  had  behaved.  On  such  a  night  as  this 
in  Venice,  and  with  the  lilt  of  the  dance  still  in 
their  heels  and  the  sound  of  the  music  in  their 
ears,  they  would  have  braved  the  daylight  ere 
they  had  ceased  their  revels. 

Ziletto  paused  for  a  moment,  as  if  he  waited 


220  THE  DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS 

for  the  moon  to  show  herself  and  light  him  on 
his  way.  Suddenlj^  Night's  Lamp  appeared  in 
a  wide  patch  of  blue  sky,  and  the  Italian, 
humming  one  of  his  favorite  love  songs,  passed 
through  the  orchard,  climbed  the  low  fence,  and 
took  the  shortest  path  toward  My  Lady's  Bower. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-EIGHT 

THE   TRAGEDY   OF   "MY   LADY'S   BOWER" 

As  Giovanni  Ziletto  entered  the  path  that  led 
to  Sir  George  Talbot's  little  estate,  with  its  gar- 
dens and  meadow,  Reuben  Clegg  passed  that 
way.  They  were  not  near  enough  to  recognize 
each  other,  but  each  suspected  who  the  other 
was.  Ziletto  sheltered  himself  beneath  an  over- 
hanging rock,  that  was  white  in  the  moonlight 
but  black  in  shadow,  Clegg  stood  in  the  middle 
of  the  path,  some  hundred  yards  away,  to  see 
who  should  emerge  into  the  light.  He  waited 
for  some  few  minutes  without  any  result,  and  then 
went  on  his  wa3^  Ziletto  came  forth  cautiously 
from  his  hiding-place,  and  climbed  the  steps  that 
led  through  the  meadow  to  My  Lady's  Bower. 
He  stooped  low  as  he  came  to  the  gate.  That  it 
was  only  on  the  latch  was  the  signal  of  the  coast 
being  clear.  He  passed  into  the  lower  garden, 
looked  about  him  cautiously,  and  taj^ped  three 
times  at  the  door.  It  was  immediatelj^  opened 
and  he  disappeared  within  the  portals,  as  the 
moon  shone  out  full  on  the  figure  of  Clegg,  who 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  321 

was  walking  toward  Eyani  by  the  path  where 
he  had  seen,  as  he  believed,  the  figure  of  Ziletto. 

An  hour  later  Mary  Talbot  drew  the  casement 
of  My  Ladj-'s  Bower.  She  and  Ziletto  sat  for 
some  time,  silently  looking  out  upon  the  night. 
There  was  no  fear  of  the  lovers  being  disturbed 
or  seen  from  that  quarter. 

The  arbor  was  not  only  secluded,  but  it  could 
not  be  approached  except  through  the  gate  that 
Ziletto  locked  as  he  passed  into  the  Talbot  do- 
main. 

Mary's  woman,  Mrs.  Dobbs,  kept  watch  and 
ward  at  the  house,  should  Sir  George  by  any 
chance  be  stirring.  Not  that  he  was  likely  to 
approach  the  arbor  at  any  time ;  it  was  Mary's 
private  retreat.  Nor  did  he  know  that  she  often 
went  there;  and  certainly  he  had  no  reason  to 
think  of  her  at  night  except  as  being  in  her  bed. 

Nevertheless,  Mary  had  taken  every  precau- 
tion of  secrec}',  and  Mrs.  Dobbs  was  entirely 
devoted  to  her;  so  the  infatuated  girl  and  her 
lover — her  husband,  as  she  believed  him  to  be, 
and  not  without  serious  reason — had  spent  many 
happy  hours  in  this  pleasant  retreat ;  though  it 
must  be  said  that  on  this  night  Ziletto  had  found 
Mary  a  good  deal  disturbed  b}^  reason  of  his 
marked  attentions  to  Francesca. 

"But,  my  love,"  he  said,  in  his  caressing 
manner,  "you  would  not  have  me  wanting  in 
courtesy  to  my  countr3nvoman?" 

"No,  Giovanni,  nor  to  any  one  else,  dear,*' 
Mary  answered,  hor  head  resting  upon  his  shoul- 
der, his  arms  about  her. 


223  THE    DAGGEK   AND   THE   CROSJi 

"And  I  knew  her  in  our  beautiful  Venice; 
and  they  are  but  boors,  as  you  call  them,  her 
husband's  comrades  at  the  Old  Hall,  and  Ron- 
billac  himself  is  a  sour-faced,  jealous,  uncom- 
panionable recluse." 

"And  you  took  pity  on  her — that  is  what  you 
would  say,  Giovanni ;  but,  dearest,  you  must  take 
pity  upon  no  one  but  me.  I  am  easily  jealous, 
and  I  might  hate  as  well  as  I  love." 

"Hate!"  exclaimed  the  Italian,  and  he  put  her 
from  him  to  look  inquiringly  into  her  eyes,  "it 
is  not  possible  that  there  is  any  of  the  fiery  pas- 
sion of  the  South  in  j^our  Northern  veins.  Ah, 
it  makes  me  love  you  the  more."  And  j'-et  he 
knew  all  the  while  that  he  meant  to  quit  Eyam  as 
soon  as  he  had  completed  arrangements  at  that 
moment  afoot,  and  without  a  word  of  farewell. 

"Nay,  then  I  am  glad,  Giovanni,  if  'tis  pos- 
sible I  could  hate  as  well  as  love,  since  it  pleases 
you;  but  I  could  never  hate  you,  Giovanni, 
whatever  might  betide,  nor  could  you  give  me 
cause,  you  whose  heart  is  so  tender,  whose  love 
is  so  generous;  for  what  have  you  not  given  up 
for  me — your  own  sunny  skies  and  all  the  life 
and  gayety  and  luxury  that  belong  to  your  own 
beautiful  home!  And  yet,  dear,  if  you  would 
only  now  let  me  confess  to  my  father  it  might 
be  that  he  would  give  his  consent  that  I  should 
accompany  j^ou  thither,  and  he,  too,  might  jour- 
ney with  us,  who  knows?  for  he  is  fond  of 
travel." 

"But  he  is  not  fond  of  me,  Mary,"  said  the 
Italian. 


THE   DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS  223 

"Oh,  but  he  would  be  if  he  knew  that  I  had 
given  you  my  heart  and  soul;  ay,  my  heart  and 
soul  and  body  and  everj^thing  I  have  to  give, 
and  my  life  if  you  ask  it,"  said  the  Northern 
beauty,  with  all  the  passion  of  that  passionate 
South  Giovanni  had  told  her  of. 

"Then  it  shall  be  so,  dearest.  We  will  con- 
fess ;  we  w^ill  kneel  at  his  feet,  we  will  be  the 
penitents,"  he  said. 

"My  own  dear  husband!"  answered  the  infat- 
uated girl ;  and  while  he  embraced  her  he  was 
thinking  of  his  tryst  with  Francesca  for  the  next 
day,  having  succeeded  in  renewing  his  spell,  as 
he  thought,  upon  Francesca,  who  had,  however, 
once  again  confessed  her  fears  to  Roubillac,  and 
was  at  that  moment  praying  for  strength  of 
resistance. 

"It  will  give  me,  you  know  not  how  much 
happiness,  Giovanni,"  said  Mary,  "to  tell  my 
father  all.  I  find  my  eyes  shrinking  from  his 
fond  gaze.  Sometimes  I  think  he  half  suspects 
me.  You  know  what  it  is  to  love  a  father?  -No. 
But  a  mother?" 

"My  mother  died  when  I  was  born,"  he  an- 
swered. 

"And  mine  soon  after.  But  for  loving  care 
and  devotion  I  have  had  in  her  place  my  old 
nurse,  who  has  been  a  mother  to  me — mother 
and  friend  and  confidante — trusted,  too,  by  my 
father;  and  you  have  reason  to  like  her,  dear, 
have  you  not?" 

"She  has  been  good  to  me,"  said  Ziletto,  "and 
I  shall  reward  her." 


-ZH  THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

"She  is  rewarded  in  my  happiness,"  said  Mary. 
"But  when  shall  we  tell  my  father?  "When  shall 
I  once  more  hav^e  the  right  to  take  his  embrace 
without  trembling?" 

"Before  the  week  is  ended,  Mary,"  he  an- 
swered. "And  now  let  us  talk  of  that  no  more, 
cara  mia,  light  of  my  life!" 

Nor  did  they.  Mary  was  not  only  content  with 
his  reply,  but  grateful  for  it;  and  Ziletto  encour- 
aged her  loving  embrace  with  fresh  stories  of 
Venice  and  Florence,  where  she  would  be  a  queen 
among  queens  of  beauty. 

Presently  they  were  surprised  by  a  gentle  tap 
at  the  door,  the  signal  agreed  upon  to  denote 
Mrs.  Dobbs,  who  was  at  once  admitted. 

' '  '  Tis  time  you  came  into  the  house,  m}'  sweet, ' ' 
said  the  devoted  old  woman.  "Your  father  is 
restless.  I  don't  think  he  has  been  abed,  for  a 
little  while  agone  there  was  a  light  in  his  cham- 
ber, and  I  heard  him  talking.  'Tis  the  anniver- 
sary of  your  mother's  death.  Supposing  he  took 
it  into  his  head  to  come  hither?" 

"My  dear  Margaret!  Has  he  ever  done  so 
before?"  Mary  asked. 

"Not  for  man}'^  a  long  year;  but  it  came  to  my 
mind,  and  I'm  full  of  forebodings  to-night.  More- 
ov^er,  'tis  best  j^ou  came  in.  Oh,  sir,  be  advised, 
and  let  her  father,  the  good  Sir  George,  be  ac- 
quainted wi'  your  secret.  'Tis  not  good  to  nurse 
it;  be  assured  'tis  not." 

"My  dear  kind  dame,  he  shall  know  of  it  ere 
the  week  is  done.     Does  that  content  you?" 

"Ay,  sir,  it  do;  and  thank  you  kindly.     Ah' 


THE   DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS  225 

if  you  only  knew  what  a  great  noble  heart  my 
master  hath,  you'd  never  fear  to  trust  him." 

"It  shall  be  as  you  say,  dear  madame,"  said 
Ziletto;  and  Mary,  in  token  of  this  concession, 
looked  up  into  his  face  and  courted  an  embrace. 

"Hist!  hist!"  said  Mrs.  Dobbs.  "Close  the 
lattice.     I  heard  a  footstep  on  the  gravel." 

Mary  closed  the  casement ;  and  they  stood  still 
to  listen. 

"  'Tis  nothing,"  said  the  old  woman,  after  a 
while.  "Forgive  me,  I  am  full  of  fears  to-night. 
I  seem  to  be  a  girl  again,  with  Sir  George  acom- 
in'  and  courtin'  his  wife  that  was,  God  rest  her ! 
My  wits  are  wool-gathering." 

"Let  us  say  good-night,  dear,"  said  Mary  to 
Ziletto.  "Go  you  before,  Margaret,  to  the  house, 
while  I  take  leave  of  my  husband  and  lock  the 
lower  gate." 

Mrs.  Dobbs  opened  the  door  cautiously.  All 
was  still.  The  moon  was  riding  high  among 
banks  of  clouds,  giving  her  light  at  fitful  inter- 
vals. 

The  lovers  sat  for  some  little  time  talking  in 
whispers  sweet  and  low.  At  last  they  began  to 
say  good-night.  Mary  opened  the  door;  then 
closed  and  locked  it,  replacing  the  key  in  her 
bosom.  It  v.'as  tied  with  a  piece  of  ribbon,  thai 
carried  the  talisman  of  her  love,  a  jeweled  ring- 
that  Ziletto  had  placed  upon  her  finger  during- 
the  ceremony  which  was  a  cherished  secret.  On 
these  nights  of  happy  intercourse  she  had  taken 
it  from  the  ribbon  and  worn  it;  not  the  plain  loop 
of  homely  Ej'am,  but  the  embossed  ring  of  tiiG 


226  THE  DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS 

Italian  artificer,  set  with  jewels ;  the  kind  of  ring, 
Ziletto  told  her,  with  which  the  fanciful  marriage 
of  the  Doge  of  Venice  and  the  Adriatic  was  con- 
firmed, an  annual  ceremony  that  he  promised  her 
she  should  see  ere  long  with  her  own  eyes  in  her 
own  state  barge. 

"How  beautiful  the  night  is!"  she  said,  as  she 
stood,  with  Ziletto's  arms  about  her,  at  the  gate, 
where  they  always  paused  a  few  minutes  to  kiss 
and  say  a  last  good-night. 

"The  clouds  have  withdrawn  for  a  moment 
that  the  moon  may  behold  you,  cara  mia, ' '  said 
Ziletto,  as  the  lamp  of  night  appeared  for  a  mo- 
ment in  a  blue  rift  of  the  darkness.  "The  moon 
looks  down  upon  many  happy  lovers,  but  upon 
none  so  blessed  as  I — upon  no  lady  so  lovely  as 
thou!" 

"Nay,  you  are  too  fond,  Giovanni.  But  you 
shall  not  make  me  vain — except  of  the  love  you 
bear  me." 

' '  S-s-sh !     Did  you  hear  nothing?    A  footstep?" 

"No,  dear,"  she  answered,  clinging  to  his  arm. 
"Which  way?" 

"Behind  us,  on  the  meadow  path,  I  think — 
coming  from  the  garden." 

"Margaret,  perhaps,"  said  Mary. 

As  Ziletto  spoke,  he  drew  Mary  from  the  gate, 
which  he  closed,  and  hurried  along  the  path,  to 
reach  shelter  among  the  various  recesses  in  the 
glen  upon  which  the  meadow  abutted.  But  they 
had  only  proceeded  a  short  distance  when  they 
were  arrested  by  Clegg,  with  the  demand, ' '  Wb*^ 
goes  there?" 


THE   DAOOER  AND   THE   CROSS  227 

Neither  Ziletto  nor  Marj-  spoke. 

"Nay,  then,  I  guess  who  you  be.  Surely  'tis 
for  no  good  you  are  here  this  time  o'  night.  Is 
one  of  you  named  Ziletto?" 

It  was  a  false  and  fickle  moon,  after  all ;  on 
the  instant  it  shone  out  bright  and  clear,  and 
Ziletto  and  Mary  Talbot  stood  revealed. 

"Forgive  me.  Miss  Talbot,  but  for  the  moment 
I  will  consider  that  I  stand  in  the  place  of  your 
father.     Command  me!" 

"How  dare  you  speak  to  me  in  such  words?" 
said  Mary. 

"  Who  commissioned  you,  sir,  to  play  the  spy?" 
began  Ziletto  angrily,  but  was  interrupted  by 
Mary,  who  clung  to  his  arm. 

"For  heaven's  sake,  dearest,  be  calm.  Let 
there  be  no  quarrel!" 

Then,  turning  to  Clegg,  she  said,  "This  can  be 
explained,  Mr.  Clegg.     You  do  not  understand 

-you-" 

"By  my  soul!"  said  Clegg,  "but  I  fear  I  un- 
derstand too  well." 

Ziletto  struggled  to  get  free  from  Mary,  and 
felt  for  his  dagger. 

"It  can  all  be  explained,"  said  Mary;  "though 
we  deny  your  right  to  question  us." 

"And  I  assert  it,  as  your  father's  friend,  and 
as  one  who  respects  you,  and  is  jealous  of  the 
honor  of  Eyam.  You  have  an  explanation. 
What  is  it?     An  elopement?" 

"Curse  you,  sir!"  exclaimed  Ziletto.  "Be- 
gone!    You  insult  the  lady." 

"If  there  is  an  insult  in  the  case,  'tis  not  I 


*/i28  THE  DAGGER  AND   TFIE   CROSS 

who  havo  offered  it.  Miss  Talbot  knows  I  am 
not  the  man  to  insult  her  father's  dauji^hter.  At 
the  same  time  T  am  the  man  to  protect  her  father's 
honor,  if  no;  ;!  be,  I  venture  to  ask  Miss  Talbot 
to  permit  me  to  escort  her  home;  and  I  advise 
her  to  explain  with  speed  what  this  meeting  here 
may  mean,  at  a  time  of  night  when  her  father's 
house  is  closed  and  all  his  guests  are  abed ;  and, 
if  she  need  any  poor  service  of  mine  that  shall 
help  her  therein,  I  am  at  her  orders  and  disposal. " 

"You  are  a  villain!"  exclaimed  Ziletto,  sud- 
denly freeing  himself  from  Mary,  his  Italian 
blood  all  afire,  discretion  thrown  to  the  winds. 

A  curse  upon  his  lips,  he  rushed  at  Clegg, 
who,  warily  watching  for  such  a  contingency, 
caught  him  by  his  dagger  arm  and  held  him, 
while  he  addressed  him. 

"Be  careful,  you  fool!  You  have  compro- 
mised Sir  George  Talbot's  daughter.  Curse  you, 
think  of  her  and  her  reputation !  Give  me  your 
knife,  you  mountebank!"  With  which  appeal 
he  closed  to  disarm  him. 

It  was  as  if  the  moon  took  a  malicious  part  in 
the  business  of  this  unhappy  night. 

At  the  moment  of  the  encounter  between  Clegg 
and  Ziletto,  a  gleam  of  moonlight  fell  for  a  sec- 
ond upon  a  cloaked  figure  that  glided  down  the 
path  from  the  direction  of  the  arbor.  Ziletto  had 
not  been  wrong  when  he  thought  he  heard  foot- 
steps in  the  direction  of  the  garden. 

Clegg  had  possessed  himself  of  Ziletto's  dag- 
ger as  the  shadowy  figure  was  absorbed  by  tho 
night'     The  moon  left  the  entire  group  in  dark- 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS      229^ 

ness  but  for  the  briefest  space  of  time.  As  it 
shone  out  again  Ziletto  was  about  to  renew  the 
struggle  with  Clegg,  though  held  back  by  Mary 
Talbot  and  discouraged  by  a  warning  word  or 
two  from  the  Englishman. 

"For  God's  sake,  listen  to  me!"  said  Clegg. 
"I  am  Miss  Talbot's  friend.     I—" 

Clegg's  last  appeal  to  the  manhood  of  his  rival 
was  stopped  by  a  paralj^zing  intrusion.  A  hand 
seemed  to  reach  out  of  the  darkness  and  clutch 
the  throat  of  Ziletto.  He  uttered  an  agonizing 
cry  of  alarm.  Then  a  third  person  seemed  sud- 
denly to  have  joined  them.  A  thudding  blow 
fell  upon  the  Italian ;  and  then  another,  the  very 
wind  of  which  chilled  Clegg's  flaming  cheek.  A 
muffled  voice  uttered  some  words  in  a  strange 
tongue.  They  sounded  like  an  imprecation. 
Thereupon  Ziletto  was  flung  to  the  earth  all  of 
a  heap,  and  the  third  person,  that  might  have 
been  a  materiahzed  shadow  for  all  either  Mary 
or  Clegg  saw  of  it,  disappeared  into  the  darkness. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-NINE 
"a  hand  reached  out  op  the  darkness" 

And  there  between  them  lay  the  body  of  Ziletto. 

The  moon  shone  out,  in  one  of  its  fitful  mo- 
ments, and  showed  it  to  them.  Mary  Talbot 
flung  herself  down  by  it  and  moaned.  Clegg 
stooped  and  felt  at  that  part  of  the  still  anatomy 
where  the  heart  should  have  beaten.     There  was 


230  THE   DAGGER   AND   THE    CROSS 

no  pulse.  He  turned  the  body  over,  face  tip 
ward.  The  ej'es,  glassy,  stared  stonily  uj)  into 
the  night,  and  the  moon  went  in  again  behind  a 
bank  of  clouds.  The  Italian  was  dead.  Clegg's 
hands  were  wet  with  his  blood,  though  the  vic- 
tim of  the  vengeful  dagger  bled  inwardly  more 
than  outwardly. 

"You  had  better  get  up.  Miss  Talbot,"  he  said. 

She  only  moaned,  in  a  pitiful  way. 

"The  poor  fellow  is  dead.  Let  me  carry  him 
away." 

Mary  stole  her  arms  about  Ziletto's  neck,  as  if 
to  protest  against  his  removal. 

' '  It  is  an  awful  business,  but  if  there  is  a  spark 
of  life  left  it  were  best  to  carry  him  to  the  vil- 
lage," said  Clegg. 

At  this,  she  started  and  looked  at  him.  Not 
that  he  caught  any  more  than  a  glimpse  of  her 
face,  for  the  night  was  still  black,  except  when 
the  moon  shone  out  at  brief  intervals,  and  at 
this  moment  it  was  almost  hidden. 

"You  said  he  was  dead,"  she  answered,  in  a 
voice  unbroken  by  emotion  or  sob,  but  in  a  tone 
of  despair. 

"I  think  he  is,"  said  Clegg,  once  more  stoop- 
ing to  listen  for  any  sign  of  life.  "Yes,  he  will 
trouble  the  world  no  morp;  he  is  dead." 

"It  was  a  cruel  thing  to  kill  him,"  she  said, 
almost  in  a  matter-of-fact  w^ay.  ' '  I  did  not  know 
you  hated  him  so." 

"I  did  not  kill  him.     God  forbid!"  said  Clegg. 

"You  said  he  was  a  villain!  Oh,  my  God, 
what  has  happened?     Where  am  I?" 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  231 

She  rose  to  her  feet.  The  moon  came  out. 
She  turned  a  face  to  Clegg  that  was  paler  than 
the  moon's — a  white,  stricken  face. 

' '  Calm  yourself,  Miss  Talbot, ' '  said  Clegg.  ' '  I 
will  carry  him  to  the  inn. ' ' 

"He  was  my  husband  I"  she  exclaimed.  "And 
you  have  killed  him!  Oh,  great  heaven,  what 
had  I  done  to  be  so  punished?  S-s-sh !  I  think 
I  must  be  mad.     "Who  are  you?" 

"Calm  yourself,"  said  Clegg  again.  "S-s-sh! 
Don't  cry.  Yes,  weep;  perhaps  it  will  be  good 
for  you." 

She  had  now  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears.  Sob 
after  sob  shook  her  like  a  palsy,  and  with  it  she 
uttered  wild  ejaculations.  She  staggered,  as  if 
she  would  fall.  Clegg  caught  her  in  his  arms. 
He  did  not  speak,  but  simply  held  her  so  that 
she  should  not  fall,  and  her  head  drooped  upon 
his  breast.  It  seemed  as  if  she  had  become  in- 
sensible. She  had  ceased  to  sob,  and  a  glint  of 
moonlight  now  showed  him  her  face  all  wet  with 
tears,  but  in  a  deathly  repose. 

"My  God!  what  shall  I  do?"  he  said  to  him- 
self.    "Carry  her  home?     Yes." 

She  was  no  light  burden  even  for  a  strong  and 
powerful  man  such  as  Clegg ;  but  what  a  loving 
burden,  under  other  circumstances!  Even  now 
his  heart  thrilled  as  he  lifted  her  into  his  arms 
and  began  to  stride  out  into  the  footpath. 

The  moon  shone  full  iipon  the  way  as  he  climbed 
the  steps  that  led  to  My  Lady's  Bovver.  The 
gate  was  fcistened.  He  fancied  he  saw  a  light 
between  the  chinks  of  the  shutters. 


232      THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

Perhaps  Margaret  Dobbs  was  up  and  waiting 
for  her  mistress.  The  thought  came  to  him  in- 
stinctively. He  leaned  against  the  gate  and  kicked 
at  it  with  his  boot.  No  answer.  He  kicked  again, 
and  listened.     No  reply. 

*'I  must  go  back  and  round  by  the  road,"  he 
said  to  himself,  "and  through  the  forecourt. 
Dear  heart,  look  up!  I  begin  to  fear  she  is 
dead!" 

Then  he  kicked  at  the  gate  with  a  will,  and 
cried  out,  "Open!     For  God's  sake,  open!" 

Thereupon  a  voice  answered,  "Who  be  it?" 

"Your  mistress;  she  has  fainted.  For  God's 
sake,  open  at  once!" 

Margaret  Dobbs,  the  faithful  nurse  and  confi- 
dante, unlocked  the  door. 

"Oh,  what  be  it?"  she  exclaimed.  "What's 
the  matter?" 

* '  Your  mistress  is  the  matter.  Have  you  water 
within?" 

He  forced  himself  past  the  old  woman,  toward 
the  doorway  of  My  Lady's  Bower. 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  the  woman.  "Lord  help  us! 
What  is  wrong?" 

By  this  time  he  had  entered  the  room  and  laid 
his  burden  down  upon  a  wide  couch,  among  a 
little  world  of  cushions;  and  Margaret  Dobbs 
approached  her  with  a  beaker  of  water. 

"Lord  in  heaven,  have  mercy  upon  us !  What 
is  the  matter?"  she  said,  looking  at  Clegg,  but 
all  the  time  sprinkling  the  white  face  of  her  mis- 
tress with  one  hand,  while  she  began  to  undo  hex 
bodice  with  the  other. 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  233 

"Don't  ask  me.  Wet  her  lips,  wet  her  hps; 
nay,  give  me  the  water." 

Ciegg  took  the  beaker  from  the  old  woman, 
and  dashed  the  contents  into  Mary's  face.  She 
did  not  move. 

"Oh,  mj'  love,  my  sweet!"  exclaimed  Mar- 
garet Dobbs,  pushing  back  the  hair  from  the 
white  face.  Clegg,  at  the  same  moment,  with 
what  seemed  to  Margaret  a  rough  indelicate 
hand,  tore  open  the  slackened  bodice,  breaking 
its  laces  and  exposing  the  fair  bosom.  Then 
scooping  up  another  supply  of  water  from  the 
great  basin  that  was  filled  b}^  a  trickling  foun- 
tain at  the  doorway,  he  dipped  his  handkerchief 
into  it,  and  began  to  beat  Mary's  neck  and  face 
with  the  wet  bandage. 

If  it  had  been  necessary  to  her  life  that  he 
should  be  cruel  to  her,  he  would  have  been  cruel. 
Under  the  smart  of  the  wet  whip,  the  color  pres- 
ently came  back  to  Mary's  cheeks,  and  with  a 
deep  sigh  her  lips  parted. 

"Thank  God!"  Clegg exclauned ;  "she lives!" 

Considering  the  misery,  to  which  this  night 
was  the  bitter  prologue,  it  might  have  been  bet- 
ter had  Mar}^  Talbot  died ;  but  Heaven  has  its 
own  mysterious  and  beneficent  ways. 

How  beautiful  she  was,  the  village  belle,  as 
she  gradually  came  back  to  life,  her  hair  in 
golden  brown  masses  about  her  face,  her  white 
bosom  rivaling  the  models  and  the  fancies  of  all 
the  painters  that  ever  strove  to  idealize  the  physi- 
cal graces  of  God's  masterpiece. 

Clegg,    with  a  trembling   hand,    placed    the 


234  THE   DAGGER   AND   THE    CROSS 

beaker  of  water  to  her  lips.  She  drank,  and 
opened  her  eyes. 

*'Put  her  to  bed!"  said  Clegg  to  tlie  old  wo- 
man; "put  her  to  bed.  If  she  thinks  she  has 
had  a  bad  dream,  let  her  dream  on ;  but  put  her 
to  bed;  encourage  her  to  sleep,  give  her  some 
draught  you  may  know  of  to  help  her  If  she 
wiU  speak,  go  on  telling  her  that  she  only 
dreams.     Good-night!     God  help  us!" 

Mrs.  Dobbs  had  not  noticed  the  blood  upon 
Clegg's  hands.  It  was  dry,  and  might  well  have 
been  the  shadow  of  the  lamp  upon  them.  He 
turned  to  take  a  farewell  look  at  Mary  Talbot, 
as  she  seemed  about  to  speak,  and  left  the  place, 
retracing  his  steps  through  the  gate,  and,  oddly 
enough,  noting  the  perfume  of  the  white  syringa 
that  clustered  among  the  foliage  by  the  arbor ;  it 
was  deadly — reminded  him  of  the  scent  in  his 
father's  room,  where  he  lay  dead  when  Reuben 
was  a  mere  lad. 

The  moon  went  in  once  more,  and  left  him  in 
comparative  darkness.  He  listened.  It  might 
be  that  some  one  was  stirring.  Not  a  sound. 
Not  a  soul  was  abroad.  Not  a  light  could  be 
seen  in  the  distant  village.  Down  the  steps  from 
the  Bower,  and  into  the  stony  footpath,  and  into 
the  little  sub-glen  of  the  great  defile  of  Stony 
Middleton,  where  he  and  his  mother  had  watched 
that  strange  procession,  and  once  more  he  was 
standing  by  the  dead  body  of  Giovanni  Ziletto. 
Then  he  began  to  think;  and  presently,  in  a 
strong  reflective  mood,  he  sat  down  by  the  road- 
way, a  short  distance  from  the  fatal  spot. 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  235 

She  had  said  this  man  was  her  husband.  He 
only  remembered  this  among  other  things  now, 
a,s  if  it  was  a  distant  memory  of  some  long-dis- 
tant time.  Her  husband !  What  did  she  mean? 
Did  she  mean  her  husband  in  the  sight  of  God? 

Or  had  they  been  secretly  married?  And  who 
was  it  that  had  dealt  the  fatal  blow?  She  said  it 
was  he,  Reuben  Clegg.  At  this  he  rose  to  his 
feet,  with  an  exclamation.  No,  she  could  not 
have  meant  that!  She  did  not  know  what  she 
said.  Nevertheless,  who  was  the  man?  It  must 
have  been  a  man.  The  blows  were  struck  with 
power.  Of  course  it  was  no  woman's  hand.  As 
for  ghosts,  well,  there  were  no  such  things  as 
ghosts,  and  spirits  did  not  strike  strong  blows 
with  a  knife  and  kill  a  man !  No  supernatural 
agency  would  have  invoked  so  physically  power- 
ful an  ally.  Clegg  had  talked  to  Mrs.  Dobbs  of 
dreaming;  had  begged  her  to  encourage  Mary 
Talbot  in  the  belief  that  she  had  been  dreaming. 
And  now  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  he  might  be  still 
lying  abed  at  home  and  seeing  this  tragedy  in 
his  sleep  and  the  image  of  Mary  with  her  white 
bosom  and  her  wondering  eyes,  fresh-opened  like 
the  opaline  light  of  the  morning  sky. 

As  his  thoughts  ran  on  in  this  direction,  the 
day  began  to  dawn.  There  was  a  faint  line  of 
dim  light  among  the  trees,  high  up  on  the  rocky 
ridge  above  him.  He  watched  it  with  a  won- 
dering gaze.  Thou  there  was  a  twitter  of  birds. 
At  first  he  thought  the  light  was  the  moon ;  but 
it  was  the  first  token  that  the  sun  was  on  its  way 
up  the  Eastern  sky.     He  sat  and  watched  it. 


236      THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

Never  once  did  his  eyes  seek  the  body  that  was 
lying  close  by.  It  was  as  if  some  pitiful  trick  of 
memory  had  interposed  to  give  him  rest  for  a 
space,  that  his  energies  might  be  braced  for  the 
trials  he  had  to  undergo.  Presently,  his  head 
drooped  against  the  white  rock,  and  he  slept. 

It  was  only  for  a  few  minutes  that  he  had  be- 
come unconscious.  He  awoke  with  a  start.  The 
light  in  the  trees  above  was  broadening.  A 
blackbird  began  to  sing.  It  was  a  cheerful,  soul- 
stirring  note,  with  something  of  the  gush  and 
gurgle  of  the  nightingale,  but  with  none  of  its 
sadness.  There  must  have  been  nightingales  in 
that  remote  valley  at  some  time,  for  the  black- 
bird to  have  learned  the  trick  of  its  note. 

All  at  once  it  seemed  as  if  the  bird's  song  had 
brought  Clegg  back  to  the  reality  of  the  situa- 
tion. 

"No,  great  God!"  he  said  to  himself,  starting 
to  his  feet,  "it  is  no  dream;  it  is  an  awful 
reality!" 

There  was  the  body,  lying  stiffly  in  the  foot- 
path. Up  above,  the  morning  was  breaking. 
A  thrush  began  to  answer  the  challenge  of  the 
blackbird. 

Clegg  stooped  to  pick  up  the  dead  Itahan. 
The  body  was  stiffening,  but  the  arms  were  still 
limp.  Clegg  had  heard  of  the  difficulties  of 
carrying  a  dead  body.  Men  who  had  fought  in 
the  wars  loved  to  talk  of  the  grim  side  of  battles. 
First,  he  lifted  the  body  in  his  arms.  It  was 
impossible  to  carry  it  in  that  position.  Marj^ 
Talbot  had  been  a  mwoh  ligliter  load.    8h(?  vv^s 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  237 

limp,  and  his  love  for  her  had  made  the  burden 
a  featherweight.  But  this  Italian,  whom  he  had 
hated,  was  no  mean  weight;  so  he  laid  the  body 
down  again,  and  tried  other  ways  of  carrying  it. 
At  last  his  grim  efforts  were  successful.  He 
hauled  the  body  over  his  shoulders,  and  set  out 
for  the  village. 

It  was  daylight  when  he  entered  the  long 
street;  and  strange  to  say,  Dakin,  the  constable, 
inet  him.  Dakin  had  a  tooth  for  mushrooms. 
He  had  risen  early  to  gather  that  dainty  fungus, 
which  his  wife  cooked  to  perfection. 

"Holy  Mother!  as  them  pertinacious  Papists 
have  it,  what's  this!"  he  exclaimed.  "Reuben 
Clegg!  And  the  Italian.  And  one  of  them 
dead,  by  all  the  saints!  There'll  be  no  mush- 
rooms for  breakfast  this  morning,  Mrs.  Dakin! 
The  Lord  save  us!     Clegg's  killed  him!" 

He  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  as  if  to 
intercept  the  man  with  the  body  over  his  shoul- 
ders.    Clegg  saw  him. 

"Out  of  the  way,"  said  Clegg,  gasping  with 
the  pressure  of  his  load. 

"Out  o"  the  way, ' '  repeated  the  constable.  ' ' I 
think  not." 

"Then  lend  a  hand,"  said  Clegg,  "for  I'm 
about  done!"  And  he  laid  the  body  on  a  bank 
by  the  road,  close  to  the  Everwater,  with  its 
flaunting  decorations. 

"Who's  done  this?"  said  the  constable. 

"Go  you  to  the  Crown  and  Anchor  and  get 
them  up,  if  tliQy  be  not  up  already,"  said  Clegg, 
**and  let  thera  prepare  his  room  to  receive  him." 


238  THE   DAGGER   AND    THE   CROSS 

"Na,  my  lad,  I'll  not  lose  sight  o*  yo%  or  the 
mortal  body  o'  the  stranger,  Giovanni  Ziletto." 

He  rolled  the  Christian  name  and  surname  of 
the  Italian  upon  his  Northern  tongue,  as  if  he 
was  already  giving  evidence  of  the  crime  and 
his  discovery  thereof  before  the  chief  magistrate 
of  the  district. 

"Then  lay  hold  on  him,  and  help  me  to  the 
inn,"  said  Clegg. 

"I'll  do  nowt  o'  the  sort,"  said  the  constable; 
"but  it  will  be  my  duty  to  lay  hold  on  yo'  for 
an  account  o'  the  manner  in  which  this  Gio- 
vanni Ziletto  came  by  his  death." 

"By you'll  never  lay  hold  on  another  if 

you  lay  a  hand  on  me,"  said  Reuben.  "And 
now  lay  hold  on  the  body;  d'ye  hear,  lay 
hold." 

Thus  menaced,  the  constable,  setting  down  the 
basket  that  he  had  intended  to  fill  with  mush- 
rooms, humbly  laid  hold  of  the  dead  man's  legs, 
Reuben  lifting  his  head  and  shoulders;  and  so 
they  carried  their  awful  load  to  the  Crown  and 
Anchor.     Radford  was  just  opening  the  door. 

"Why,  in  the  devil's  name,  what's  this!"  he 
3xclaimed. 

"Lead  the  way  to  the  man's  room,"  said 
Clegg. 

Radford  did  so,  at  the  same  time  calling, 
"Missus!  Here!  Wakken,  everybody!  Wak- 
ken!     There's  murder  been  done;  murder!" 

Radford  was  quite  beside  himself  at  sight  of 
the  dead  body  of  Ziletto,  and  the  house  was  soon 
alive  with  servants  and  guests;  for,  like  every 


THE  DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  339 

other  place  in  the  village,  the  inn  was  filled  with 
visitors,  who  slept  anywhere,  and  most  of  whom 
had  gone  to  bed  late,  carrying  thither  enough 
liquor  to  give  them  dreams  almost  as  grewsome 
as  the  reality  of  Clegg's  experiences. 

When  the  body  had  been  comfortably  laid 
upon  the  bed,  and  Mrs.  Radford  had  begun  to 
discuss  the  question  of  laying  it  out,  the  con- 
stable demanded  that  it  should  not  be  disturbed, 
until  the  coroner  and  his  jury  had  seen  it ;  but 
in  the  meantime  he  called  upon  Reuben  Clegg 
to  give  himself  up  to  bis  custody.  They  were  in 
the  great  house-place  of  the  inn  when  the  con- 
stable addressed  Reuben,  in  presence  of  the  com- 
pany there  assembled ;  all  of  them  greatly  ex- 
cited, some  in  a  dazed  state  of  headache,  some 
rubbing  their  eyes,  the  women  all  alert  and  full 
of  inquiry. 

"I  am  going  home,"  said  Reuben.  "I  will 
meet  you,  Mr,  Constable,  before  the  coroner,  or 
where  you  will,  within  the  hour,  if  it  so  please 
you :  but  until  then  I  am  for  home.  My  mother 
will  be  alarmed  at  my  long  absence." 

' '  Nay,  my  lad,  yo're  none  going  home.  I  make 
yo'  my  prisoner.  I  shanna'  wait  for  the  coroner, 
by  the  token  that  he's  away  on  a  journey;  I 
shall  take  thee  before  Sir  George  Talbot,  soon  as 
he's  out  o'  bed,  and  charge  thee!" 

"Charge  me !"  said  Clegg.     "  With  what?" 

"The  murder  o'  Giovanni  Ziletto.  Thou  wert 
the  last  man,  I  reckon,  seen  in  his  company,  and 
I  met  thee  carrying  his  body." 

"And  does  that  imply  that  I  murdered  him?" 


^40  THE   DAGGER    AND   THE   CROJiS 

"It  implies  that  tliou'st  gotten  to  account  for 
his  death. ' ' 

"Aye,  aye!'"  said  several  voices. 

"I  will  account  for  it,  as  far  as  I  know,  to 
the  magistrate,"  said  Reuben;  "but  as  he's  still 
abed,  I'll  go  home,  until  'tis  fitting  he  be  wak- 
ened to  receive  me." 

"Nay,  thou'lt  none  go  home,"  said  the  con- 
stable, only  too  ready,  like  a  weak  creature,  to 
pay  off  his  little  grudges  against  Clegg,  and  bold 
to  make  arrest  of  him  while  men  stood  by  upon 
whom  he  could  call  for  assistance  if  need  be. 

"I  did  not  kill  the  man;  I  was  bj^  when  he 
fell ;  and  all  this  and  the  rest  I  will  relate  to  Sir 
George  Talbot  in  due  time.  But  now  I  am  go- 
ing home." 

"Reuben  Clegg,  I  arrest  you  in  the  name  of 
the  law!"  said  the  constable,  advancing  upon 
him. 

"You  lie!"  said  Clegg.  "You  do  nowt  of  the 
sort;"  and  he  swept  the  constable  aside,  so  that 
Dakin  staggered  into  the  arms  of  Radford,  while 
Reuben  Clegg  strode  out  into  the  village  street 
without  further  check  or  hinderance. 

"Stop  him!  I  charge  you,  every  one,  stop 
him!"  gasped  the  constable. 

Now,  although  Reuben  was  not  what  might 
be  called  popular  in  the  village,  by  reason  of  his 
masterful  ways  and  his  greater  knowledge  of 
things  than  the  best  of  them  in  the  Hundred,  the 
people  respected  him ;  and  at  this  moment  they 
admired  the  courage  of  the  man,  his  willfulness, 
his  power.     Not  a  soul  moved  to  stay  him.     Sev- 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  341 

eral,  indeed,  laughed  at  the  constable.  The  vil- 
lage carpenter  said,  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  "Well 
done,  Master  Clegg;  I'n  stand  by  yo'  if  yo' 
want  any  man's  help. ' ' 

"Stop  him,  I  say,  in  the  name  of  the  law;  he 
is  my  prisoner!"  exclaimed  the  constable,  gather- 
ing himself  together  and  making  for  the  door. 

"Nay,  it  isna'  our  business,"  said  Radford; 
"and,  besides,  we  know  him.  He'll  none  run 
away;  he'll  keep  his  word;  he'll  none  be  missing 
when  yo'  want  him." 

"Oh,  that's  how  yo'  take  it!"  said  the  con- 
stable, freeing  himself  from  the  friendly  arms 
that  had  broken  his  fall.  "We'll  see  about  it. 
As  for  yo',  John  Radford,  yo'r  license  shall  be 
revoked;  we'll  see  about  it!" 

"See  about  it  and  be  hanged!"  said  Radford, 
roused  by  the  pompous  attitude  of  the  constable. 

"Oh,  I  may  be  hanged,  may  I?"  said  Dakin, 
purple  with  rage,  as  he  turned  to  leave  the  house. 

"That's  what  I  said,  and  I  don't  go  agen  my 
word.  Revoke  my  license,  yo'  meddlin'  fool? 
My  father  and  his  fathers  before  him  have  held 
the  Crown  and  Anchor  before  your  mushroom 
crew  ever  entered  the  High  Peak  Hundred. 
Talk  to  me  of  my  license!  I'll  break  my  staff 
about  your  wooden  skull,  yo'  penny  jack-a- 
dandy." 

"What  is  it,  John?"  exclaimed  a  feminine 
voice,  as  Mrs.  Radford  appeared  on  the  scene, 
pushing  her  way  through  such  of  the  servants 
and  guests  as  were  not  peeping  in  at  the  chamber 
of  death  above. 


212  THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS 

"What  is  it?  It's  Dakin,  the  cowardly  cur- 
mudgeon; talks  to  me  as  if  I  were  novvt  in 
Eyam,  as  if  I  hadna'  served  the  king ;  as  if  we 
lived  by  his  leave  and  'lowance.  By  my  soul, 
I'll  pound  his  carcass  to  a  jelly  if  he  were  twenty 
times  constable  an'  he  talks  to  me  like  that 
agen!" 

"Here,  father,  have  a  mug  of  ale,"  said  Jenny 
Radford,  coming  to  the  rescue  of  her  mother. 
"Don't  give  such  folk  a  thought." 

Radford  took  the  mug,  emptied  it,  gave  a 
great  sigh,  and,  looking  round,  said,  "Jenny 
knows  how  to  get  over  her  fayther.  Jenny,  my 
lass,  draw  for  our  friends." 

Jenny  disappeared. 

"And  now,  lads  and  lasses,  come,  bustle! 
Donnat  stand  gaping ;  get  to  work.  It  mun  be 
a'most  breakfast  time."  Then,  seeing  Jenny, 
with  a  mug  of  ale  and  a  cluster  of  horn  cups,  he 
said,  "I'm  hot  i'  the  temper,  bein'  roused;  but 
it's  soon  ovver.  Try  the  Crown  and  Anchor's 
tap,  my  friends;  and  you'll  find  plenty  to  do  to 
tell  everybody  what's  happened  by  time  break- 
fast's ready." 

Jenny  handed  round  the  ale.  Radford  went 
to  the  door. 

"By  gum !  Village's  all  astir.  They'n  gotten 
summat  to  talk  about  now,  besides  Well-dress- 
ing.'* 


THE  DAGGER   AND   THE  CROSS  243 


CHAPTER  THIRTY 

MOTHER  AND   SON 

The  sun  and  a  quaint  old  lamp  were  illuminat- 
ing Clegg's  cottage  as  he  climbed  the  path  that 
led  to  the  garden  gate.  His  mother  had  put  the 
light  in  the  window  for  a  beacon.  Not  that  she 
had  ever  done  so  before.  It  struck  Reuben, 
however,  in  this  way.  He  remembered  that  his 
mother  had  not  wished  him  to  go  out  again  after 
ho  had  taken  her  home.  She  had  a  restless  fore- 
boding of  ill,  she  said.  Superstitious  himself 
about  some  things,  and  indeed  with  his  divining- 
rod  the  embodiment  of  a  certain  gift  that  ap- 
peared to  many  more  than  human,  Reuben  was 
skeptical  of  other  people's  omens.  He  put  down 
his  mother's  to  over-solicitude  for  him,  arising 
out  of  her  undue  affection. 

"You're  too  fond,  mother,"  he  had  answered 
her.  "I  will  be  back  by  time  you've  said  your 
prayers." 

But  the  loving  mother  had  said  her  usual 
prayer,  and  many  another,  before  Reuben  re 
turned.  When  she  heard  his  footsteps  upon  the 
limestone  flags  that  paved  the  footwaj'  along  the 
garden,  she  knew  that  "something"  had  hap- 
pened, whatever  the  something  might  be  that 
she  had  feared.  A  woman's  instinct  is  delicate 
as  it  is  strong ;  it  has  strange  mental  feelers  that 
reach  far ;  some  one  has  likened  them  to  the  an- 


244  THE  DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS 

tenn£e  of  the  butterfly ;  but  the  love  of  a  mother 
is  gifted  with  a  second  sight ;  it  has  eyes  that 
look  into  the  future. 

"What  has  happened,  Reuben?'*  she  asked, 
meeting  him  in  the  doorway. 

Her  face  was  gray  as  her  hair.  She  looked  up 
at  him  with  keen  eyes.  He  took  her  into  his 
great  arms,  and  pressed  her  convulsively  to  his 
heart.  Then  he  led  her  to  his  own  chair,  and 
took  her  upon  his  knee.  He  spoke  no  word ;  nor, 
for  the  time,  did  she  ask  another  question.  She 
knew  that  he  had  suffered  some  serious  hurt  in 
liis  heart;  for  his  body,  she  felt,  lacked  none  of 
its  strength.  What  she  had  feared  when  she 
asked  him  not  to  go  out  again  she  knew  not ; 
now  she  felt  a  little  flutter  of  gladness  that  he 
was  at  home,  whole  and  strong;  and  yet  she 
knew  that  he  was  suffering. 

"Mother,"  he  said,  presently,  placing  her  in 
her  chair,  and  himself  standing  by  the  door  and 
looking  out  at  the  risen  sun,  "I  wish  I  had  lis- 
tened to  thee  and  stayed  at  home. ' ' 

Then  he  turned  and  saw  the  dull  blinking  of 
the  lamp  in  the  sunshine ;  and  he  strode  to  the 
old  sideboard  and  put  out  the  light. 

"Did'st  thou  put  it  i'  the  window  for  me?" 

"Ay,"  she  said.  "Seemed  to  me  it  might  re- 
mind thee  to  come." 

"I  wish  I'd  seen  it,"  he  said. 

When  he  talked  to  his  mother  it  was  in  the 
local  vernacular,  the  peculiarities  of  which  it  is 
not  necessary  to  do  more  than  suggest  in  these 
pages. 


THE    DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  2i5 

^'What's  liapp'd,  Reuben?" 

"Nay,  something  awful,  mother.  It's  a  cruel 
thing  to  drive  th'  sleep  from  thy  gradely  eyes  wi' 
such  a  tale  as  I've  gotten  to  tell.  Sit  thee  down, 
mother,  and  howd  my  hand;  and  I'll  tell  thee." 

He  sat  down  by  her  side,  and  she  laid  her 
hand  in  his. 

"I  was  thinkin'  about  what  had  gone  on  dur- 
ing th'  day,  about  the  Italians,  and  th'  Well- 
dressings  that  had  taken  place  before  they  come 
to  Eyam,  and  Mary  Talbot  come  into  my  mind, 
and  yonder  Ziletto,  the  fiddlin'  and  singin'  chap, 
when,  somehow,  late  in  the  night  I  found  my- 
self near  by  the  meadow  that  leads  to  Talbot's 
gardens  and  My  Lady's  Bower;  and  lo  and  be- 
hold, who  should  come  forth  but  the  Italian  and 
Talbot's  daughter,  Mary." 

"Lord!  Lord!"  said  Mrs.  Clegg. 

"It  was  a  wavering  kind  of  moon,  fitful-like, 
but  it  shone  out  upon  them;  and,  by  heaven, 
you  might  have  smitten  me  dazed  with  my  thin- 
nest willow-sprig!" 

"Alas!  alas!"  said  Mrs.  Clegg. 

"I  challenged  them.  Miss  Talbot  rebuked 
me,  with  scorn.  The  Italian  cur  asked  who  had 
commissioned  me  to  play  the  spy.  Then,  it  was 
as  if  we  both  made  for  each  other;  not  before 
other  words  passed,  which  I  needna'  repeat.  We 
came  to  blows,  or  would  have  done,  but  in  the 
thick  of  it  a  hand  reached  out  of  the  darkness 
and  stabbed  him  to  death!" 

"A  hand  reached  out  of  the  darkness,"  said 
Mrs,  Cleggj  ^'find  stabbed  him  to  de9,tU?" 


246  THE  DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS 

"Yes;  that  is  the  long  and  short  of  it.  I've 
not  told  you  all  that  was  said ;  but  that's  what 
it  come  to.  He  drew  his  knife  on  me;  it  was 
going  to  be  a  fight;  then,  all  of  a  sudden,  it 
seemed  as  if  a  third  party  had  joined  us;  but  I 
only  saw  a  strange  hand  for  a  moment,  and  all 
was  over;  the  Italian  fell  dead  between  me  and 
Mary  Talbot." 

"Lord  have  mercy  on  us!"  said  Mrs.  Clegg. 
"It  was  not  for  nowt  that  my  heart  was  sad  all 
day,  my  prayers  welling  up  in  tears.  Oh,  my 
son!     My  dear  Reuben." 

"Mother,  don't  take  on  too  much  about  it.  Be 
brave.  There's  no  blame  to  me — except  that  I 
did  not  love  thee  enough  to  listen  to  theo,  when 
thou  saidst  'Reuben,  donnat  go  out  again  to- 
night!' " 

"Donnat  fear  that  I'll  not  be  brave,  Reu- 
ben." 

"I  mun  tell  thee  all!  Mary  Talbot  fell  into 
a  faint.  I  carried  her  to  th'  Lad3^'s  Bower ;  old 
Mother  Dobbs  was  there,  waiting  for  her.  And 
I  forgot  to  tell  thee,  Miss  Talbot  said  the  dead 
man  was  her  husband." 

"Her  husband !"  said  Mrs.  Clegg.  "Her  hus- 
band!    And  what  dost  thou  think  o'  that?" 

"Nay,  mother,  I  donnat  know  what  to  think. 
When  I'd  seen  her  safe  home  I  carried  th'  body 
to  th'  Crown  and  Anchor!" 

"Nay,  did'st  thou?  Well,  it  was  th'  right 
thing,  I  make  no  doubt;  it's  more  than  I  could 
ha'  done  if  I'd  been  strong  enough.  He  was 
^  cursed  thing  in  thy  path,  yonder  Italian;  a 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE    CROS«l  247 

snake,  a  serpent,  an  unholy  life.  Maybe  'tis  tlie 
Lord  has  struck  him  down!" 

The  old  woman  drew  herself  up  as  she  spoke 
and  her  eyes  flashed  angrily.  She  had  no  ex- 
pression of  sorrow  for  the  murdered  man.  She 
hated  him.  He  had  come  between  Reuben  and 
his  love;  between  her  and  her  dearest  ambition; 
it  must  have  been  God  who  had  removed  him. 

"I  donnat  think  it  was  a  Divine  hand  that  in- 
terposed in  our  contest,"  said  Reuben ;  "nor  does 
old  Dakin,  the  constable." 

"What  does  that  dunderhead  think?"  asked 
Mrs.  Clegg. 

"I  donnat  know  what  he  thinks;  I  only  know 
what  he  says." 

"And  what  does  he  say,  Reuben?  What  does 
he  say?" 

"That  I  am  his  prisoner,  mother.  Nay,  I'd 
have  thee  face  the  thing  straight;  for  when  I 
think  of  it,  I've  known  men  get  into  trouble  with 
far  less  cause  of  suspicion  against  them." 

"What  dost  thou  mean,  Reuben?  Nay,  tell 
me,  lad ;  keep  nothing  back,  even  if  thou  killed 
him  thysen!" 

"Mother,  what  art  thou  saying?  Seems  to  me 
you've  unknowingly  struck  me  in  the  very  spot 
where  the  constable  wounded  me." 

"Wounded  thee!" 

"Not  bodily,  but  men  tally — spiritually.  Nay, 
but  you  have  alarmed  me,  mother!" 

"Reuben,  my  love,  my  own,  donnat  say  that! 
What  is  it  I  have  said?" 

"Thou  saidst,'even if  I  had  killed  him  myself. ' " 


248  THE    DAGGER   AND   THE    CROSS 

"I  only  meant  that  I  could  bear  the  very 
worst,  and  that  'twas  best  to  tell  me  all  and 
have  no  fear." 

"The  constable  said  I  was  last  in  companj"  of 
til'  dead  man  and  must  account  for  his  death ; 
as  good  as  hinted  that  I  should  be  charged  with 
his  murder ;  and  even  laid  his  hand  upon  me, 
and  said  I  was  his  prisoner." 

"And  thou?" 

"I  said  he  lied,  and  came  home  to  thee, 
mother. ' ' 

"And  thou  didst  right,  Reuben.  Come  and 
wash  thysen,  and  go  to  bed,  lad,  and  rest. 
Eyam  will  take  thy  word ;  the  whole  High  Peak 
Hundred  will;  and  thou  art  Sir  George  Talbot's 
partner." 

"I  towd  them  I  should  be  found  when  I  was 
wanted;  and  it's  my  intention,  soon  as  Sir 
George  is  up,  to  go  and  let  him  know  all  that 
passed — though  it  troubles  me  sore  to  know  what 
I  shall  say  about  his  daughter." 

"Say,  Reuben?  Why,  the  truth;  the  whole 
truth,  and  nowt  else.  And  now  come,  lad,  to 
thy  room,  and  wash  thee  and  put  on  a  change — 
when  thou  gets  up,  after  a  rest." 

She  had  noted  the  blood  upon  his  hands  and 
the  stains  upon  his  jerkin.  When  he  had 
washed,  she  poured  the  water  away ;  and  when 
he  was  asleep,  she  tried  to  take  the  stains  out  of 
his  jerkin.  Failing  this,  she  buried  it  in  the 
garden,  and  laid  another  ready  to  his  hand  when 
l>e  should  awaken. 


THE  DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS  249 

CHAPTER   THIRTY-ONE 

HOW  THE  MORNING  CAME  TO  MARY  TALBOT 

"Where  do  you  think  she  be,  you  meddha' 
good-for-no%Yt?"  rephed  Margaret  Dobbs  to  Da- 
kin's  inquiry  after  Miss  Talbot. 

"In  bed,  I  shouldn't  wonder;  but  not  at  her 
Aunt  Deborah's." 

"Well,  who  said  she  was?"  the  testy  old  wo- 
man answered. 

"They  do  say  that  hghts  ha'  been  seen  i'  My 
Lady's  Bower,  off  and  on,  o'  nights  this  week  or 
two;  and  late,  mark  you." 

"Pity  there's  no  light  i'  thy  head,  Dakin,"  said 
Margaret;  "it  'ud  be  all  the  better  for  a  ha'p'orth 
o'  sense." 

"You  wouldna'  be  so  spiteful  if  yo'  hadna' 
sununat  to  keep  i'  the  dark.  But  it  makes  no 
matter,  I'n  gotten  to  do  my  duty;  you  seem  to 
be  th'  only  body  that's  up,  and  I'll  thank  yo'  to 
tell  Sir  George  Talbot  that  th'  constable  'ud  like 
to  see  him." 

"Consarning  what,  may  I  ask?" 

"A  murder,  Mrs.  Dobbs." 

"Oh!" 

"Maybe  yo'n  heard  of  it?" 

"I  canna'  say  that  I  hev;  what's  it  all  about?" 

"I'm  afear'd  it's  about  your  young  mistress — 
God  save  her!" 

"About  my  young  mistress.  What  do  you 
mean?" 


250      THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

"Jealousy,  I  should  say." 

"Oh!" 

"Th'  man  was  killed  close  by  th'  Lady's 
Bower." 

"What  man?" 

"Ziletto,  th'  Italian." 

"Oh!" 

"I  don't  want  to  do  no  hurt  to  Miss  Talbot;  if 
she  was  at  her  Aunt  Deborah's,  it  mightna'  be 
a  bad  thing  for  her;  there's  all  sorts  o'  things 
said ;  the  wonder  to  me  is  who  finds  things  out ; 
I'd  no  idea  that  Ziletto  was  courtin'  Miss  Talbot, 
not  th'  least,  though  ivverybody  was  well  aware 
that  Mester  Clegg  affected  tli'  young  lady." 

"Affected!     What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  was  drawn  to  her,  and  had  got  her  in 
his  thoughts — a  stuck-up,  proud,  owd  know-all!" 

"You  donnat  like  Mester  Clegg." 

"And  nobody  else  does  that  I  knows  on;  he's 
got  such  a  way  o'  bestin'  folks  wi'  his  books  and 
his  opinions  and  th'  like;  but  I'm  thinkin'  he's 
done  for  hissen  this  time.  However,  none  of  us 
but  would  do  Miss  Talbot  a  good  turn;  none  of 
us  that  doesna'  worship  her  father,  some  of  us 
more  than  we  worships  at  Church;  so  I'd  like 
you  to  tell  Miss  Talbot  what's  goin'  on." 

"You're  a  good  deal  of  a  fool,  Humphrey  Da- 
kin,  but  yo'n  not  gotten  such  a  bad  heart.  It's 
an  awful  bad  business,  this!" 

"Ay,  'tis,"  said  the  constable. 

"I'll  tell  th'  young  mistress  what  you  say." 

"They  mek  out  i'  th'  village  that  she  was  there 
at  th'  time ;  how  they  mek  it  out  I  canna*  tell, 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  361 

except  that  there  was  a  bunch  o'  ribbhis  and  a 
brooch  found  on  th'  spot  by  that  ovver-pert 
daughter  o'  Radford's — th'  one  wi'  reddish  hair, 
Jane,  they  ca'  her;  seems  while  th'  body  was  be- 
in'  put  to  bed  and  the  Hke  some  o'  th'  folk  started 
off  to  see  where  th'  deed  was  done,  and  they  fol- 
lowed traces  o'  blood  to  th'  bit  o'  glen  off  Mid- 
dleton  Dale  and  close  by  steps  leadin'  from  gate  as 
goes  to  My  Lady's  Bower,  and  there  they  found 
ribbins  and  brooch,  which  Jane  Radford  swears 
belongs  to  Miss  Talbot.  She's  a  minx,  that  Jane 
Radford;  was  ovver  fond  o*  th'  Italian  hersen', 
they  do  say ;  but  what  wi'  one  thing  and  another 
I  havena'  had  time  to  go  to  th'  spot,  and  I  reckon 
it  was  my  duty,  but  I  was  so  stalled  wi'  Clegg 
defjnn'  my  authority,  and,  furthermore,  I  says 
to  mysen',  I'd  better  speak  wi'  Mrs.  Dobbs  if  I 
can,  and  give  her  chance  to  let  Miss  Talbot  be 
warned  that  I'm  goin'  to  ask  Sir  George  for  a 
warrant  to  arrest  Reuben  Clegg." 

"Very  weU,'*  said  Mrs.  Dobbs,  who  had  been 
doing  her  best  to  repress  all  signs  of  anxiety  or 
emotion.  ' '  I  think  Sir  G  eorge  be  stirring  by  this ; 
servants  is  gettin'  up,  I  can  hear  them,  so  I'll  just 
oppen  iib'ry  shutters  and  you  can  wait  for  Sir 
George — and  thank  yo'  for  what  yo'n  towd  me." 

She  led  the  way  to  the  library,  where  Dakin, 
taking  upon  his  knee  the  great  calf -bound  law 
book  that  Sir  George  often  consulted,  proceeded 
to  fumble  over  the  section  that  was  devoted  to 
criminal  procedure. 

Mrs.  Dobbs  went  back  to  Mary's  room.  The 
girl  was  wide  awake. 


•252  THE   DAGGER   AND   THE    CROSSJ 

**Well,  Margaret/'  she  said,  "what  have  you 
heard?" 

Mrs.  Dobbs  told  her  what  had  passed  between 
her  and  the  constable. 

"I  think  I  will  go  to  my  father  before  he  sees 
Dakin." 

"I'm  too  dazed  to  give  you  advice,  my  love," 
said  the  old  woman,  the  tears  starting  into  her 
eyes;  "better  let  thy  heart  speak." 

"Yes,  Dobbs,  yes,"  said  the  girl,  rising  from 
her  bed,  half-dressed.     "I  will  go  to  him." 

"My  dear  unhappy  one,  God  be  with  you,  I 
think  it's  best." 

"Go,  then,  dear  Dobbs,  and  tell  my  father  that 
before  he  sees  the  constable  I  wish  to  speak  with 
him." 

Then,  laying  aside  the  gown  she  had  worn,  and 
stripping  off  the  petticoat  in  which  she  had  lain 
down,  she  began  to  make  a  careful  toilet.  She 
was  very  pale,  and  there  were  dark  rims  about 
her  eyes. 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"  'Tell  her  to  come  to  my  room,  Dobbs,'  he 
said.  'I'll  see  her  before  I  go  down,  and  my 
love  to  her.  Some  business  of  the  Wells, 
eh?'  " 

"And  how  did  you  reply?" 

"Nay,  I  said  nowt;  I  nigh  choked  wi'  grief, 
ho  was  that  cheerful;  looked  so  well,  and  was  so 
sprightly." 

"Yes,  dear,  it  is  very  sad,"  said  Mar}^  with 
a  strange  calmness. 

"I'm  glad  you're  dressin'  up  a  bit,"  said  the 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE    CROSS  253 

old  woman.  "I  was  afeared  you  might  be  goin' 
to  him  just  as  you  was.  Nowt  like  straightenin' 
up,  it  steadies  one.  I've  always  felt  that  i'  time 
o'  trouble  and  death  a  good  wash  and  puttin' 
one's  things  straight  and  the  like — eh,  but,  my 
sweetheart,  you  look  the  image  of  your  mother. 
Sir  George  canna'  be  angry  with  thee,  lass,  he 
canna'.  He  loved  yonder  mother  o'  thine  be- 
yond all  imagining,  I  can  tell  you,  and  half  his 
love  for  thee,  my  dear,  comes  from  you  being 
your  mother's  child.     God  rest  her!" 

"You  said  they  carried  him  to  his  own  room 
at  the  Crown  and  Anchor?"  said  Mary,  busy 
with  her  own  thoughts  and  making  a  supreme 
effort  to  realize  the  promise  she  had  made  to 
herself  in  her  prayers,  to  bear  her  burden  with 
patience. 

"Yes,  ni}'  love,  yes." 

"Who  were  they?" 

"It  was  the  constable  that  met  him,  but  not 
till  he  was  nearl}'  there." 

"You  mean  Reuben  Clegg?" 

"Yes." 

"He  carried  me  home?" 

"Yes." 

"And  then  my  dead  husband!  Oh,  to  think 
of  it !  And  all  this  misery  in  one  short  night, 
with  the  moon  shining  and  the  sun  rising  as  if 
nothing  had  happened.  Oh,  Margaret,  is  it  all 
true?" 

"Alas,  every  word  of  it!" 

"Have  I  been  asleep?" 

"No;  but  thou  hast  not  been  thyself." 


264-  THE   DAnCEn    AND   THR    CROSS 

"He  sleeps,  Margaret,  but  oh,  how  sudden! 
Dost  think  it  might  be  a  trance?" 

"I've  made  tliee  a  posset  that  might  incline 
thee  to  sleep  a  while ;  wilt  take  it?  You  can  go 
to  3'our  father  after  he's  had  his  breakfast." 

"Ay,"  she  said,  with  a  child-like  smile,  and 
sipped  her  old  nurse's  decoction ;  but  it  would 
have  needed  a  much  more  powerful  narcotic  than 
any  Dobbs  dared  prepare  to  close  Mary's  eyes  to 
the  scenes  that  haunted  her,  and  would  haunt 
her  for  many  a  month  to  come,  sleeping  or  wak- 
ing. 

"I  must  go  and  see  mj^  husband,"  she  said; 
"a  sad  sight,  Margaret,  a  sad  sight!  We  will 
gather  all  the  whitest  and  sweetest-smelling 
flowers  we  have,  to  lay  by  his  side.  He  loved 
flowers  and  music,  and  everything  that  was  beau- 
tiful." 

"He  loved  thee,"  said  the  old  woman,  as  if  in 
confirmation  of  the  girl's  eulogium  of  his  taste. 

"And  for  me,  Dobbs  dear,  weeds,  weeds,  for 
evermore :  rue,  hemlock,  the  deadly  nightshade, 
poppies,  all  the  saddest  things!" 

She  brushed  her  hair  and  tied  it  in  a  knot  at 
the  back  of  her  head,  drew  round  her  shoulders 
a  scarf  or  sash,  and  contemplated  herself  in  her 
)nirror. 

"Poor  Mary!"  said  Dobbs.  "I  pity  thee  from 
my  heart ;  married  and  widowed  so  soon,  and  so 
secretly — no  wedding-bells,  no  passing-bell,  and 
I've  been  listening  for  it  all  the  morning.  Won't 
they  let  him  have  a  passing-bell,  poor  Giovanni? 
— S-s-sh,  there  it  is!" 


THE   DAGGER   AND    THE   CROSS  255 

And,  sure  enough,  as  she  spoke  the  passing- 
bell  was  tolling  for  the  dead  Ziletto. 

"And  now  I  will  go  to  my  father,"  said  the 
girl,  kissing  her  woman  tenderly,  her  face  palo 
as  death,  her  eyes  expressionless. 

"Ah,  my  poor  child!"  said  the  woman. 

"I  hope  it  won't  break  his  heart,"  the  girl  re- 
plied. "Mine  is  dead  with  Ziletto.  How  long 
may  one  hve  without  a  heart?" 

"Nay,  thou  art  young,  lovey;  thy  heart  will 
mend.  Time  is  a  wonderful  mender  of  broken 
hearts." 

And  so  she  went  forth  to  tell  her  story  to  her 
father.  Margaret  Dobbs  followed  her  through 
the  doorway,  and  heard  the  loud  and  hearty 
greeting  Sir  George  gave  his  daughter ;  and  then 
she  stole  away,  awestruck. 

' '  God  save  them  both  1 ' '  she  prayed, ' '  and  grant 
she  may  not  lose  her  wits!" 


CHAPTER  THIRTY-TWO 

"summon  the  jury,  call  forth  your  wit- 
nesses" 

Humphrey  Dakin,  as  we  have  seen,  was  not 
a  man  of  any  remarkable  sensibility,  but  he  was 
shocked  when  Sir  George  Talbot  entered  the  li- 
brary. On  the  pre\aous  day  a  hale,  ruddy,  alert, 
cheerful  gentleman,  apparently  as  young  at  heart 
as  the  striplings  who  greeted  him  at  the  Wells  and 
cast  furtive  glances  at  his  beautiful  daughter; 


256  THE   DAGGER   AND   THE    CROSS 

and  now  an  old  man,  his  eyes  red  with  care,  his 
body  bent,  the  figure  of  one  whose  hair  might 
have  turned  white  in  a  night,  a  wreck  of  his 
former  self. 

"Your  pardon,  Sir  George,  you  are  sick?"  said 
the  constable,  stepping  forward  and  offering  the 
magistrate  the  assistance  of  his  arm,  which  Sir 
George  politely  declined. 

"Not  sick  unto  death,  Dakin ;  but  sick,  as  thou 
sayest.     My  daughter  has  told  me  all." 

"I  will  not  pain  your  graciousness  by  asking 
what  'tis  you  mean  when  you  say  all;  though 
'tis  not  much  I  know  myself,  yet  'tis  too  much." 

"It  shall  be  set  forth  in  evidence,  Dakin:  the 
truth,  the  whole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the 
truth." 

"If  it  doth  in  anywise  compromise  Miss  Tal- 
bot, Sir  George,  let  us  take  counsel,  Sir  George. 
I  be  but  the  humble  constable ;  thou  art  the  f  oun  • 
tain  of  justice,  representing  the  king,  as  'twere." 

"We  must  do  our  duty,  wherever  it  lead  us, 
Dakin, ' '  said  Sir  George,  speaking  with  a  judi- 
cial calmness  that  chilled  the  constable. 

"I'd  rather  my  tongue  was  blistered  with  a 
stroke  than  say  a  word  against  Miss  Talbot,  or 
your  honor;  nor  hath  it  come  within  my  prov- 
ince, for  all  I  did  but  guess  was  that  there  might 
ha'  been  some  jealousy  between  the  two  men, 
and  it's  as  sure  as  death  that  Ciegg  had  a  mortal 
hatred  of  the  Italian;  and,  begging  your  honor's 
pardon  for  trespassing  on  you,  it  was  his  high- 
and-mighty-ness  with  me  and  my  office  that  im- 
pulsed me  to  arrest  him,'* 


THE  DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS  257 

"And  is  he  under  arrest?" 

"ISTot  de  facto,  but  in  law,  may  it  please  your 
honor ;  for  I  did  charge  him,  and  he  would  not 
surrender,  but  threatened  me  that  to  lay  a  hand 
on  him  would  be  to  be  incapacitated  from  lajnng 
a  hand  on  any  other  as  long  as  I  should  live ; 
which  in  itself,  Sir  George,  was  nothing  short  of 
an  assault  and  battery,  and  a  resistance — " 

"Be  calm,  Master  Constable,  and  patient,  and 
keep  thy  voice  under  control." 

"An  it  please  you,  and  I  crave  your  pardon  for 
a  loud-spoken  knave  that  I  am,  little  dreaming 
that  your  honor  has  taken  on  twent}^  years  of 
age  and  infirmity  since  yesterday";  pardon  me 
for  sajnng  so,  but  there's  not  a  man  in  Eyam,  or 
all  the  Hundred,  that  does  not  love  j'our  honor; 
but  as  for  Clegg,  he  is  a  pestiferous  knave,  and — " 

"It  ill  becomes  thee  to  say  so.  What  charge 
dost  bring  against  him?" 

"I  charge  him,  that  he,  being  last  in  company 
of  Giovanni  Ziletto,  and  seen  in  flagranti  de- 
licto—" 

"Keep  to  thy  Enghsh,  Dakin." 

"An  it  please  you,  so  I  will.  Taken  red- 
handed,  as  I  may  say,  the  body  in  his  posses- 
sion, known  to  be  at  feud  with  him,  and  other- 
wise of  a  malicious  tendency'  toward  him,  he  is 
guilty  of  his  murder,  and  so  I  charge  him!" 

"In  the  which,  Dakin,  I  fear  thou  art  guilty 
of  importing  prejudice  into  the  exercise  of  thy 
office;  for  'tis  well  known  that  there  is  a  quarel 
between  thee  and  Clegg,  and  that  thou  hast 
threatened  him  with  the  payment  of  old  scores 


258      THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

in  thy  capacity  of  constable — a  thing  that  is  most 
reprehensible,  Dakin." 

"You  are  the  fountain  of  justice  hereinEyam. 
I  might  say  the  well  un defiled — " 

"Abridge  thy  metaphors,  Dakin." 

"An  it  so  please  j'ou,  Sir  George,  I — " 

"Surely  thy  duty  was  plain.  A  body  being 
discovered  under  suspicious  circumstances,  or 
come  of  a  violent  death,  without  implicating 
any  one  in  an  act  of  carelessness  or  revenge  or 
otherwise,  thy  duty  was  to  notify  the  coroner 
and  summon  a  jury — " 

"Your  honor  knows  the  coroner  is  absent,  and 
it  seemed  to  me  there  was  evidence  against  Clegg 
sufficient  to  have  him  brought  before  your  honor 
in  your  magisterial  capacity,  and  the  only  magis- 
trate or  knight  of  the  shire,  the  coroner  being 
away,  privileged  to  take  evidence  on  oath  in  this 
investigation." 

"But  there  is  the  coroner's  deputy." 

"Nay;  I  have  received  no  intimation  of  the 
deputy." 

"I  am  he,"  said  Sir  George;  "I  undertook  the 
office  for  my  absent  friend." 

"All  the  same,"  said  Dakin,  "it  would  appear 
to  my  best  reasoning  of  the  matter  that  I  should 
have  a  warrant  of  arrest,  and  bring  Reuben  Clegg 
before  your  honor  forthwith." 

' '  That  may  not  be,  Master  Constable.  Go  thou 
and  summon  the  jury  for  the  crowner's  quest, 
and  let  the  court  be  held  at  the  Crown  and  An- 
chor." 

"If  so  j)lease  you,  Sir  George." 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  259 

"And  summon  what  witnesses  thou  may  est 
deem  necessary ;  and  among  them  Reuben  Clegg 
and  Father  CastelM  at  the  Old  Hall;  and  I  will 
bring  my  daughter  to  the  court." 

"There  is  neither  man,  nor  woman,  nor  child 
in  Ej^am  or  the  Hundred  that — " 

"Nay;  I  know  what  thou  wouldst  say.  Get 
thee  gone,  Dakin;  summon  the  jury,  call  thy 
witnesses,  and  I  will  open  the  inquest  at  noon." 


CHAPTER    THIRTY-THREE 
"one  that  loved  not  wisely,  but  too  well" 

And  the  decorated  "Wells  were  deserted,  the 
Village  Green  was  empty.  There  was  no  more 
feasting.  The  people  were  all  in  the  long  street, 
or  gathered  together  around  the  Crown  and  An- 
chor. Symbols  of  mourning  had  already  taken 
the  place  of  gay  attire,  and  the  royal  standard 
fluttering  from  the  church  tower  was  half-mast 
high.  The  visitors  who  had  come  to  hear  the 
Word  of  God  given  joyfully  and  the  bands  play 
cheerful  music,  and  those  who  also  had  looked 
forward  more  particularly  to  the  dancing  on  the 
Green  and  the  merry-making  to  follow  the  high 
festival  of  Ascension,  found  themselves  taking 
part  as  spectators,  some  as  witnesses,  in  the 
tragedy  of  Ziletto. 

The  sun  made  no  recognition  of  the  shadow 
that  had  fallen  upon  the  village.  It  went  on 
glorifying  the  florally-dressed  W^lls  as  if  noih' 


260  THE  DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS 

mg  had  happened  to  n\ar  the  occasion.  But  it 
awoke  no  response  of  indifU'erence  in  the  hearts 
of  the  people.  Even  the  stranger  within  the 
gates  shared  in  the  general  gloom,  since  it  in- 
volved the  chief  inhabitants  of  the  village,  Sir 
George  Talbot  and  his  daughter,  and  sullied  the 
reputation,  as  it  was  thought,  of  Reuben  Clegg, 
whose  name  was  famous  not  alone  in  Eyam,  but 
in  distant  parts  of  the  Hundred,  as  a  man  of  curi- 
ous knowledge  and  a  master  of  divination  as  it 
applied  to  water  and  minerals. 

Furthermore,  the  young  Italian  who  lay  dead 
in  the  Crown  and  Anchor's  best  room  had  g-iven 
to  Eyam  one  of  its  finest  designs  in  the  Well- 
dressing,  and  had  been  noted  by  many  for  his 
remarkable  and  fine  appearance. 

The  calm  happiness  of  the  previous  morniiig, 
the  religious  mood  of  the  crowd  listening  to  the 
Reverend  George  Mompesson's  inspired  words, 
both  at  the  "Wells  and  in  the  Church,  and  the 
joyousness  of  the  night  with  its  dance  and  song, 
made  the  gloom  of  this  next  day  all  the  more 
impressive. 

Mr.  Constable  Dakin  had  brought  his  jurymen 
together.  Sir  George  Talbot,  in  his  cajDacity  of 
deputy-coroner,  had  formall}^  opened  the  inquest 
in  the  general  room  of  the  Crown  and  Anchor. 
No  lawyer  watched  the  case  for  any  of  the  parties 
concerned.  Witnesses  and  spectators,  seated  and 
standing,  filled  the  room.  The  windows  were 
open  upon  what  might  be  called  the  forecourt  of 
the  inn — the  space  in  which  it  stood  back  from 
the  road.     Those  who  could  not  squeeze  into  the 


THE   DAnOER   AND    THE   CROSS  261 

room  assembled  about  the  windows  and  door  of 
the  inn,  or  occupied  the  passageways  and  thronged 
the  garden  at  the  back,  beneath  the  window 
whence  Ziletto  had  been  in  the  habit  of  letting 
himself  out  on  his  visits  to  My  Lady's  Bower. 

The  jurymen  sat  aroimd  a  long  table,  at  the 
head  of  which  Sir  George  had  been  provided  witli 
his  own  chair,  brought  down  from  the  Manor 
House  library  by  the  constable,  who  stood  near 
at  hand.  Sir  George's  clerk,  who  acted  for  him 
in  magisterial  cases,  sat  on  his  left  hand.  On 
his  right  was  his  daughter  Mary.  Sir  George's 
right  hand  was  laid  affectionately  upon  her  left, 
and  every  heart  was  touched  at  the  sadness  of 
the  picture.  They  all  noticed  the  worn  look  in 
Sir  George's  face,  the  wrinkles  that  seemed  to 
have  come  in  a  night,  the  humble  bend  of  the 
head,  so  marked  now  in  one  of  his  pride  and 
authority. 

Mary  Talbot,  her  hat  hung  by  a  ribbon  upon 
the  arm  of  her  father's  chair,  her  hair  partly 
bound  to  her  head  and  partly  falling  in  a  heav}- 
tress  of  golden  brown,  her  white  neck  half-con- 
cealed by  a  silken  scarf,  her  face  almost  more 
beautiful  for  its  pallor  that  gave  refinement  of 
color  to  its  youthfulness,  might  have  been  sitting 
in  an  empty  room  for  all  the  consciousness  she 
betra5-ed  of  the  general  presence  of  the  village. 

Reuben  Clegg  and  his  mother  had  been  pro- 
vided with  seats  near  the  further  end  of  the 
table.  Mrs.  Clegg,  in  her  Quaker-like  gown 
and  hood  of  gray,  looked  upon  the  assembly  with 
a  firm  sense  of  her  son's  innocence  and  safety. 


962  THE  DAGGER  AND   THE   CROS3 

She  glanc(Ml  at  him  now  and  then,  and  from  him 
to  the  crowd,  as  if  in  dumb  appeal  to  her  neigh- 
bors to  say  whether  any  man  so  favored  by  Nat- 
ure, so  upright  and  fearless  of  countenance,  could 
be  guilty  of  the  meanness  of  stabbing  a  man  in 
the  dark ;  for  it  was  generally  known  that  the 
constable  had  openly  charged  him  with  the  mur- 
der of  the  Italian.  Clegg  looked  on  with  an  air 
of  unconcern,  except  when  his  ej'es  strayed  to- 
ward Mary  Talbot,  and  then,  those  who  watched 
him  could  not  fail  to  observe  that  he  was  deeply 
moved,  and  only  with  much  effort  could  repress 
his  emotion. 

Great  curiosity  was  excited  by  the  presence 
of  the  Papist  priest.  Father  Castelli,  the  Signor 
Roubillac,  and  other  Italians  from  the  Old  Hall, 
sitting  in  close  proximity  with  the  Reverend 
George  Mompesson  and  Mrs.  Mompesson,  the 
inhibited  clergyman,  Mr.  Stanley,  and  the  Sig- 
norina  Francesca  Roubillac,  who  had  overruled 
her  husband's  desire  that  she  should  not  be  pres- 
ent. She  came  in  a  gown  and  hood  of  rich  pur- 
ple, her  face  half  concealed  at  first,  but  during 
the  inquiry  wholly  uncovered.  Rarely  did  her 
dark  eyes  wonder  from  the  face  of  the  woman 
whom  Ziletto  had  endeavored  to  make  her  look 
upon  as  a  rival. 

The  preliminary  formalities  of  the  quest  hav- 
ing been  fvilly  observed,  Sir  George  presently 
opened  the  proceedings  with  a  few  remarks  of 
deep  pain  and  regret  that  the  Festival  of  the 
Wells  should  have  so  melancholy  an  ending  as 
that  which  had  brought  them  together,  neigh- 


THE  DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS  263 

bors,  friends  and  guests,  to  inquire  into  the  death 
of  Giovanni  Ziletto,  who,  from  coming  among 
them  an  entire  stranger,  had  won  the  respect  of 
the  village  and  the  Hundred,  and  had  so  ingrati- 
ated himself  with  the  young  lady  by  his  side  as 
to  win  her  for  his  wife,  her  love  for  him  over  com- 
ing her  duty  to  her  father,  by  a  private  marriage 
in  an  alien  Church;  which  had  ended,  as  most 
trespasses  on  parental  authority  ended,  in  sadness 
and  sorrow.  He  said  he  had  thought  it  wise  to 
mention  these  matters  at  the  outset,  in  order  that 
this  inquiry  might  be  free  and  open  and  without 
restraint;  their  one  object  being  to  discover,  if 
possible,  the  truth  in  respect  of  the  death  of  the 
deceased,  whose  mortal  remains  they  had  viewed, 
and  who  had  come  to  an  untimely  and  violent  end. 
Mary  Talbot,  whom  they  all  knew  and,  he  believed, 
respected,  had  come  there  voluntarily,  of  her 
own  accord,to  give  her  evidence ;  and  although,  in 
the  ordinary  course,  he  would  think  it  his  duty 
to  warn  her,  and  also  Reuben  Clegg,  that,  as 
being  present  at  the  time  of  the  death  of  the  de- 
ceased, they  should  remember  that  grave  respon- 
sibility rested  upon  those  last  seen  or  heard  of  in 
the  company  of  one  about  whose  violent  taking- 
off  there  was  a  question,  he  had  resolved  to  let 
this  inquiry,  as  the  law  intended  in  such  cases, 
be  enlarged  to  its  fullest  extent,  informal  as  to 
the  discipline  of  evidence  in  a  criminal  trial,  and 
therefore  permitting  every  witness,  summoned 
or  otherwise,  to  remain  and  take  part  in  the  in- 
vestigation, which  was  to  discover  how  and  by 
\vhat  means  Giovanni  Ziletto  came  by  his  death. 


264  THE   DAGGER  AND  THE   CROSS 

At  the  same  time,  it  should  be  remembered,  as 
the  constable  had  desired  to  impress  upon  him, 
that,  in  case  the  jury  should  find  that  in  their 
unanimous  opinion  the  guilt  of  the  man's  death 
should  lie  at  the  door  of  an}^  known  person  or 
persons,  they  had  the  power  to  commit  the  said 
person  or  persons  to  take  their  trials  for  the  same 
at  the  Assizes  next  ensuing,  with  or  without 
further  investigation  before  the  magistracy. 

Sir  George's  words  fell  on  eager  ears,  and  his 
references  to  his  daughter  brought  the  tears  to 
many  eyes.  Francesca  Roubillac  little  under- 
stood their  purport,  but  she  wept  with  the  rest ; 
and  it  was  with  consternation  that  the  villagers 
listened  to  the  Deputy-Coroner's  closing  words, 
that  were  briefly  repeated  by  those  nearest  the 
window  to  those  without,  and  went  buzzing 
through  the  crowded  street.  Father  Castelli 
whispered  to  Roubillac  at  the  reference  to  Mary 
Talbot's  secret  marriage,  a  piece  of  information 
that  came  as  a  startling  surprise  to  everj'body. 
Something  like  a  smile  of  satisfaction  for  a  mo- 
ment illuminated  the  ascetic  face  of  Mrs.  Mom- 
pesson,  who,  in  an  interview  with  Mrs.  Dobbs  at 
the  Manor  House,  had  heard  somewhat  vaguely 
of  the  relationship  between  Mary  and  Ziletto, 
Mr.  Mompesson  having  brought  her  information 
of  lights  having  been  seen  at  late  hours  beneath 
the  shutters  of  My  Lady's  Bower.  Mrs.  Mom- 
pesson found  her  faith  in  Mary  at  least  partially 
indorsed  by  this  reference  to  a  secret  marriage. 
Roubillac  spoke  occasionally  to  his  wife,  who 
turned  to  him  now  and  then  to  ask  a  question; 


THE  DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS  265 

always,  however,  with  reference  to  Mary,  whom 
she  observed  throughout  with  an  air  of  soUcitude 
and  affection.  Roubillac  was,  perhaps,  the  most 
self-possessed  person  in  the  room.  He  moved 
without  the  smallest  appearance  of  restraint, 
spoke  unaffectedly  to  his  wife,  watched  the  pro- 
ceedings with  deep  interest,  but  with  the  affected 
interest  of  a  mere  looker-on. 

The  constable  was  the  first  witness  called. 
He  told  the  jury  how  he  met  Clegg  carrying  the 
dead  body  of  Ziletto,  and  the  manner  in  which 
Clegg  had  treated  him;  how  he  had  assisted  to 
carry  the  body  into  the  Crown  and  Anchor,  with 
the  aid  of  Radford.  Vicars,  who  had  been  elected 
foreman  of  the  jury,  asked  the  constable  if  he  had 
knowledge  of  any  quarrel  between  the  deceased 
and  Reuben  Clegg ;  and  the  constable  proceeded 
to  relate  various  circumstances  that  had  come 
under  his  notice,  tending  to  show  that  there  was 
animosity  toward  Ziletto  on  the  part  of  Clegg. 

"Sir  George,"  said  Reuben  Clegg,  slowl}^  ris- 
ing to  his  feet,  "I  would  like  to  say  a  word;  it 
will  save  time,  and  perhaps  some  Ijnng  to  boot." 

' '  I  would  advise  that  there  shoidd  be  no  inter- 
ruption of  the  ordinary  course  of  evidence,  Mas- 
ter Clegg,"  Sir  George  replied.  "Your  oppor- 
tunity will  come  in  due  course." 

"Very  well,"  siiid  Clegg,  sitting  down  again 
by  his  mother,  who  kdd  her  arm  upon  his  as  he 
resumed  his  seat. 

The  incident  started  a  hum  of  conversation  for 
a  moment,  and  the  news  that  Clegg  had  called 
the  constable  a  liar  went  forth  to  the  outer  crowd. 


266  THE  DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS 

and  was  elaborated,  as  it  sped,  into  something 
like  a  quarrel  in  the  court.  During  the  after- 
noon the  village  that  was  outside  the  Crown  and 
Anchor  obtained  still  more  curiously  perverted 
accounts  of  the  investigation ;  the  close  of  which, 
however,  came  upon  them  with  all  the  force  of  a 
calamity. 

Other  witnesses  having  been  examined  in  con- 
nection with  the  discovery  of  the  body  of  Ziletto, 
the  undoubted  cause  of  death,  the  finding  of  a 
brooch  and  bunch  of  ribbons  b}^  Jane  Radford  at 
the  scene  of  the  murder.  Sir  George  Talbot,  the 
deputy  coroner,  rose,  and  once  more  stating  that 
his  daughter  came  there  of  her  own  desire,  took 
the  Testament  from  his  clerk,  and  tendered  to 
her  the  oath  himself,  while  every  heart  in  the 
assembly  almost  stood  still — that  she,  Mary  Tal- 
bot, "would  speak  the  truth,  the  whole  truth,  and 
nothing  but  the  truth,  touching  the  death  of  Gio- 
vanni Ziletto,  so  help  her  God!" 

She  had  risen,  and  faced  her  father  as  he 
spoke.  Taking  the  book  into  her  hands,  she 
bent  her  head  over  the  sacred  volume  and 
kissed  it. 

"Tell  the  jury  and  the  court  what  j^ou  know 
of  the  man,  Giovanni  Ziletto,  and,  so  far  as  j^our 
knowledge  goes,  how  he  came  by  his  death," 
said  Sir  George,  in  a  voice  that  lacked  the  firm 
judicial  tones  he  desired  and  the  judicial  calm 
he  hoped  to  assume. 

Mompesson,  who  knew  him  well,  could  detect 
the  suppressed  emotion  of  the  agonized  father 
struggling  between  love  and  duty,  and  letting 


THE  DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS  267 

duty,  according  to  his  severe  lights,  get  the  bet- 
ter of  him. 

Mary  Talbot  told  the  story  as  we  know  it.  She 
spoke  as  if  her  evidence  related  to  the  experiences 
of  some  dear  and  suffering  friend,  pitying  her- 
self with,  now  and  then,  the  tribute  of  tears. 
When  she  related  how  she  had  consented  to  a 
secret  marriage,  it  w^as  plain  to  the  simplest  that 
she  was  careful  to  take  all  the  blame  upon  her- 
self, and  no  one  could  for  a  moment  doubt  the 
truth  of  her  account  of  the  ceremony  in  the  little 
chapel  of  the  Old  Hall. 

"Will  you  stand  up,  Father  Castelh,  if  it  so 
please  you?"  said  Sir  George,  his  daughter  paus- 
ing for  a  moment  as  if  to  collect  her  faculties. 

The  reverend  father  rose,  and  bowed  to  Sir 
George. 

"Is  that  the  reverend  father  who  married  you 
in  the  chapel  of  the  Old  Hall  to  Giovanni 
Ziletto?" 

"If  he  is  Father  Castelli,  yes,"  she  replied. 

"May  I  ask  her  a  question,  Sir  George?  It  is 
painful,  but  belongs  to  the  investigation  of  the 
truth." 

"Ask  her  what  you  wish,  sir,"  said  Sir 
George. 

"It  was  twilight  in  the  chapel,  you  said,  Miss 
Talbot ;  did  you  see  the  face  of  the  priest  who 
married  you?" 

"But  dimly,  reverend  sir,"  she  replied. 

"I  do  not  ask  you  to  pledge  an  oath  to  God, 
but  are  you  quite  sure  it  was  I  who  laid  hands 
upon  you  and  blensed  you?'" 


268  THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS 

"Giovanni  told  me  so." 

"I  will  not  press  you  further,  my  poor  child. 
You  thought  it  was  I,  and  he  told  you  so — he, 
Zilett.)?" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  and  leaned  for  a  moment 
against  iicr  father's  chair,  as  the  priest  sat  down 
and  began  to  speak  in  whispers  to  Roubillac  and 
other  Italians  sitting  near. 

"Have  courage,  my  child,"  said  Sir  George; 
the  girl  sighed  so,  as  she  looked  round  the  court 
and  seemed  for  the  first  time  to  realize  her 
position. 

Then,  with  such  delicate  reservation  as  the 
pure  soul  of  the  woman  prompted,  she  related 
how  they  had  walked  through  the  meadows  and 
over  the  moors  and  across  the  Dale  to  My  Lady's 
Bower,  where  Margaret  Dobbs,  her  dear  faithful 
woman,  had  received  them;  and  how  on  other 
nights  she  had  stolen  thither  to  meet  her  hus- 
band, who  had  soon  intended  to  acquaint  her 
father  with  their  true  position,  and,  if  he  should 
forgive  them,  as  she  was  sure  he  would,  they 
could  be  publicly  married  in  her  own  church  and 
by  her  own  clergj^nan ;  and  how  bitterly  she  had 
repented  of  her  disobedience  to  her  father,  but 
how  hopefully  she  had  looked  forward  to  his  for- 
giveness for  being  married  secretly  and  accord- 
ing to  the  Romish  faith;  but  never  once  did  she 
blame  Ziletto,  never  once  did  she  refer  to  the 
scene  in  which  he  had  heartlessly  mentioned 
his  speedy  return  to  Italy,  nor  had  she  even 
hinted  at  any  reason  for  jealousy  of  him.  It 
w^s  the  statement  of  a  self-sacrificing  woman, 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE    CROSS  269 

who  is  paralleled  in  our  own  day  by  the  com- 
monest type  of  the  East  End  of  London,  who 
comes  into  court  bruised  and  battered,  and  vows 
her  man  was  not  to  blame,  and  that  when  he  is 
sober  he  is  the  kindest  and  best  of  husbands. 
Mary  Talbot  loved  Ziletto  as  only  women  can 
love ;  but  she  did  not  deceive  the  women  present, 
nor  many  of  the  men,  who  saw  in  Ziletto,  even 
under  the  protection  of  a  secret  marriage,  noth- 
ing less  than  a  vile  seducer. 

This,  however,  did  not  shut  their  eyes  to  what 
they  considered  duty.  He  had  been  ruthlessly 
murdered,  and  it  was  to  the  honor  and  credit  of 
Eyam  that  the  crime  should  be  cleared  up,  and 
the  criminal,  whoever  he  might  be,  punished 
according  to  law.  There  have,  surely,  been 
known  instances  of  this  virtuous  regard  for 
duty  leading  the  best-intentioned  astray  in  their 
judgment;  and  Reuben  Clegg  stood  within 
this  danger. 

The  hush  in  court  was  painful,  the  silence  only 
disturbed  by  the  breathing  of  the  crowd,  as 
Mary  Talbot  narrated  the  incidents  of  the  mur- 
der, prefaced,  as  her  story  was,  by  another  ref 
erence  to  Ziletto's  intention  to  proclaim  their 
marriage.  She  had  said  "Good-night"  to  her 
"lord,"  as  she  every  now  and  then  called  him, 
and  he  would  have  her  go  a  few  steps  forward 
to  see  the  beauty  of  the  moonlight.  It  was  a 
moon  that  disappeared  frequently.  They  were 
surprised  by  the  sudden  challenge  of  Reuben 
Clegg.  She  recalled  all  that  transpired  with 
great  vividness;   how  she  rebuked  Clegg;  how 


270      THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

Ziletto  rushed  forward  to  resent  the  insult  Clegg 
seemed  to  offer  him;  how  she  thought  Clegg 
seized  Ziletto,  who  had  drawn  his  knife  upon 
him ;  and  how,  as  she  stepped  forward  to  inter- 
pose, a  hand  came  between  them — a  hand,  as  it 
seemed  to  her,  out  of  the  darkness,  and  struck 
Ziletto.  At  the  same  moment  it  seemed  as  if  a 
voice  spoke  in  a  deep  whisper;  and  then  Ziletto 
fell  with  a  groan,  and  she  and  Clegg  were  alone 
with  the  dead. 

The  woman  appeared  to  see  the  scene  as  she 
described  it,  and  when  she  spoke  of  being  alone 
with  the  dead,  she  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands  and  leaned  against  her  father's  chair. 
And  Francesca  Roubillac,  with  a  sudden  im- 
pulse, rose,  pushed  her  way  to  her  side,  took  her 
into  her  arms,  and,  her  eyes  full  of  tears,  said  in 
Italian:  "Dear  love,  my  heart  bleeds  for  you; 
let  me  be  your  sister." 

Strong  men  sobbed,  in  sympathy  with  the  two 
women  and  with  Sir  George.  Reuben  Clegg 
turned  his  head  away,  and  spoke  to  his  mother ; 
and  Roubillac  sat  motionless,  watching  his  wife. 

Presently  Sir  George  rose,  and  said  he  believed 
that  was  the  conclusion  of  Miss  Talbot's  evidence, 
unless  any  one  desired  to  question  her.  There 
was  no  response ;  but  the  Italian  woman  turned 
to  Sir  George  and  addressed  him  in  Italian. 

Sir  George  looked  toward  Roubillac  for  an 
explanation. 

"My  wife,  sir,"  the  Italian  said,  with  perfect 
calmness,  "desires  that  she  may  be  permitted  to 
have  the  honor  and  CGmfortf^ble  satisfaction  to 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS     .271 

accompany  the  signora  to  her  home,  and  attend 
upon  her  as  a  sister." 

"What  think  j'ou,  may  we  now  dispense  with 
Mary  Talbot's  further  attendance?"  said  Sir 
George,  addressing  the  jury;  who,  in  one  voice, 
as  it  were,  said,  "Yes,  Sir  George;  and  God  be 
with  her!" 

"Mary,  my  love,"  said  Sir  George,  "would 
you  like  this  lady  to  go  home  with  you?" 

"Yes,  dear,"  the  girl  replied. 

Francesca,  without  interpretation,  understood 
both  question  and  answer;  and  at  once  placing 
her  arm  round  the  girl,  proceeded  to  lead  her 
forth,  the  crowd  making  way  for  them  with 
many  expressions  of  sympathy. 

Thus  one  of  the  most  touching  scenes  of  the 
inquest  was  brought  to  an  end. 

So  soon  as  the  court  had  settled  down  again, 
and  the  constable  called  "Silence!"  the  Rev. 
Father  Castelli  rose  to  say  that  he  had  been  sum- 
moned by  the  constable,  he  hardly  knew  why, 
except  as  a  countrj^man  of  the  deceased;  but 
after  the  evidence  of  the  beautiful  and  unhappy 
daughter  of  their  much-respected  chief.  Sir 
George  Talbot,  he  had  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  it  was  to  speak  to  the  question  of  the  secret 
marriage ;  and  it  behooved  him  to  declare,  in  the 
interest  of  truth,  and  the  good  repute  of  his 
Church  among  them — for  they  had  been  most 
tolerant  and  kind  in  their  regard  for  what  had 
been  called  an  alien  faith,  of  which  he  was  a 
humble  servant — it  became  him  as  a  priest,  and 
he  might  say  for  the  time  being  a  citizen,  to 


273  THE   DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS 

proclaim  that  he  had  not  married  this  joung 
lady  to  the  man,  Ziletto;  nor,  indeed,  had  he  cel- 
ebrated any  sacrament,  except  in  the  course  of 
duty  among  his  own  flock,  and  not  once  among 
them  tlie  ceremony  of  marriage. 

Sir  George  and  the  jury  were  considerably 
taken  aback  at  this  declaration;  as  was  also 
Reuben  Clegg,  for  the  secret  marriage  had  been 
a  comfort  to  him.  He  had  hated  himself  above 
all  things  for  doubting  the  honor  of  Mary  Talbot. 

"Are  3'ou  the  only  priest  at  the  Old  Hall?" 
asked  Sir  George. 

"Yes,  Sir  George,  there  is  no  other," 

' '  Would  it  be  possible  that  one  of  your  fellow 
countrymen  could  have  taken  upon  himself  your 
holy  office,  and  performed  the  ceremony?" 

"It  would  be  sacrilege,  Sir  George." 

"Yes;  but  it  might  occur?" 

"It  would  be  most  improbable,  with  all  due 
respect.  Sir  George." 

"Improbable,  but  possible?"  persisted  Sir 
George. 

"I  should  say,  knowing  my  people,  not  pos- 
sible, Sir  George." 

"But,  reverend  sir,  I  would  have  sworn  on  my 
life  that  it  would  not  have  been  possible  for  any 
one  to  have  persuaded  mj'  daughter  to  step  aside 
fr©m  the  path  in  which  she  knew  I  would  desire 
her  to  walk— and  is  there  a  man  among  your 
Italians  who  is  under  stronger  duty  of  love  and 
obedience  than  a  daughter  to  a  devoted  father?" 

"You  touch  my  heart,  Sir  George,"  said  the 
priest,    "but  there   is   a   Higher  Power   and  a 


I'HE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  273 

greater  influence  than  the  earthly  love  of  a 
father." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  there  is:  I  had  not  thought  of 
it.  Then,  it  comes  to  this  conclusion,  Father 
Castelli;  it  would  be  possible  for  one  of  j'our 
flock  to  masquerade  as  a  priest  to  the  undoing  of 
a  virtuous  and  loving  girl,  but  in  so  doing  he 
would  be  running  his  soul  into  damnation?" 

"Yes,  Sir  George,  most  assuredly  he  would." 

"Then,  Sir  Priest,"  said  Sir  George,  rising  to 
his  full  height,  "may  the  soul  of  the  coward 
who  did  this  thing  be  damned  to  all  eternity!" 

"Amen — ten  thousand  times,  Amen!"  said 
Reuben  Clegg;  and  everyone  rose  to  his  feet, 
and  there  was  a  great  commotion. 


CHAPTER  THIRTY-FOUR 

THE  CONDEMNATION  OF  REUBEN  CLEGG 

Silence  having  beeii  once  more  restored,  the 
inquiry  was  continued.  Though  the  constable 
was  an  ignorant  man,  hatred  of  Clegg  had  con- 
siderably sharpened  his  wit.  He  had  sufficient 
legal  acumen  to  know  that,  given  a  strong  dis- 
closure of  "malice  prepense"  against  Clegg,  the 
chances  were  strongly  in  favor  of  his  committal. 
So  Dakin,  in  marshaling  the  evidence  before  the 
court,  managed  to  emphasize  those  incidents  that 
proved  Clegg  to  be  an  open  enemy  of  Ziletto. 
Moreover,  he  endeavf)r(!d  to  set  up  a  prejudice 
against  Clegg  as  a  skeptic  in  religion  and  a  foe 


27+  THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS 

to  law  and  order,  posing,  himself,  as  the  repre^ 
sentative  of  the  latter  by  virtue  of  his  office. 

Clegg  writhed  under  this  covert  attack,  which 
was  too  insidious  for  full  appreciation  by  the 
villagers.  Sir  George,  however,  noted  it,  and 
Clegg  observed  how  frequently  the  deputy-cor- 
oner strove  to  give  a  better  complexion  to  cir- 
cumstances that  seemed  to  tell  against  Clegg 
than  the  constable  contrived  to  get  down  upon 
the  depositions  which  Sir  George's  clerk  was 
carefully  putting  into  black  and  white. 

"You'n  heard  the  prisoner,"  began  Dakin, 
taking  an  opportunity  to  put  a  cross-examining 
question  to  Radford. 

* '  Prisoner ! ' '  said  Sir  George.  ' '  What  do  you 
mean,  Dakin?  What  prisoner?  Of  whom  are 
you  speaking?" 

"I  humbly  ask  your  pardon,"  said  the  con- 
stable. "I  should  have  said  the  witness.  It  was 
but  a  slip  o'  the  tongue." 

"That's  nothing  new  i'  the  constable,"  said 
Clegg.  "If  every  slip  b'  the  tongue  he  made 
shot  his  heels  into  the  air,  he'd  'a'  broken  his 
back  ere  this!" 

Jury  and  spectators  laughed  heartily  at  Clegg's 
sally,  but  the  clerk  looking  up  from  his  papers, 
responded  with  "Silence,  silence!" 

"If  thou  shps  through  the  hangman's  noose 
before  th's  done,  it'll  be  a  rare  piece  o'  luck  for 
thee,  I'm  thinkin',"  said  the  constable,  purple 
with  anger. 

"Dakin!  Dakin!  how  dare  you  offer  such  a 
remark!"  exclauned  Sir  George. 


THE   DAGGER  AND  THE   CROSS  275 

*'I  humbly  ask  your  pardon,  Sir  George;  I 
was  provoked,"  Dakin  replied,  at  once  realizing 
the  mistake  he  had  made,  not  so  much  as  con- 
cerned the  dignity  of  his  office  as  the  bias  he  had 
exhibited  against  Clegg. 

"It's  true  I  have  heard  Clegg  say  'Curse  the 
Italians!'  and  it's  true  I'n  heard  him  jeer  at  con- 
stable; but  he  isna'  the  only  man  i'  Eyam  that's 
jeered  at  owd  'Wait-a-bait,'  "  said  Radford. 

"That  will  do,  Radford,"  answered  the  con- 
stable, looking  at  him  with  a  superior  air,  amid 
a  general  titter. 

"Nay,  it  winna  do;  nowt  o't  sort,"  said  Rad- 
ford. "You  ax  me  a  question,  I'n  a  right  to 
reply;  and  if  I  die  for  it  I  will  say  thou'rt  a 
meddlesome  curmudgeon." 

"Stand  down,  Radford,"  said  Sir  George.  "I 
am  most  willing  that  every  man  shall  have  his 
due  license  in  cross-examination  by  the  constable ; 
but  such  remarks  as  your's  can  only  end  in  a 
brawl,  and  an  injustice  to  the  peaceful  reputation 
of  Ej^am." 

"I  thank  you.  Sir  George.  It  seems  to  me 
that  there's  a  sort  of  dead-set  against  Master 
Clegg;  and  in  your  fairness,  Sir  George,  as  he's 
your  friend,  as  one  may  say,  you  donnat  do  him 
justice." 

"Stand  down,  Radford!" 

"Yes,  Sir  George,"  said  Radford,  resuming 
his  seat,  amid  a  murmur  of  applause. 

"Nay,"  said  Clegg,  rising,  "I  want  no  more 
than  is  fair  and  square,  so  far  as  I'm  concerned; 
and  if  the  constable  has  his  knife  ijato  me,  it's 


276      THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

only  natural,   I  suppose,   seeing  that  I've  had 
him  often  on  the  hip." 

"I  wish  to  observe,"  said  the  constable,  inter 
rupting  Clegg,  "that  I  never  said  a  word  about 
any  knife." 

"Nor  has  Clegg,"  said  Sir  George,  "except  in 
the  way  of  metaphor." 

"I  humbly  thank  you.  Sir  George.  I  donnat 
know  what  fine  meaning  he  may  give  to  this" 
(flinging  down  a  heavy  weapon  upon  the  table), 
"but  in  E3'am  we  call  it  a  knife,  and  I  found  it 
an  hour  or  two  back  at  Clegg's  cottage;  and, 
moreover,  buried  i'  the  garden,  this  jerkin. ' '  (He 
dragged  from  beneath  the  table  the  jerkin  Mrs. 
Clegg  had  hidden  on  her  impulse  of  fear  the  night 
before.)     "It's  a  good  deal  saturated  wi'  blood." 

If  the  constable  had  timed  the  moment  for 
producing  these  incriminating,  if  dumb,  wit- 
nesses, he  could  not  have  created  a  more  pro- 
found sensation.  Sir  George  leaned  back  in  his 
chair  and  wiped  the  perspiration  from  his  face. 
The  only  man  in  court  who  was  not  greatly 
moved  was  Clegg  himself. 

"Sir  George,"  he  said,  "it  is  true  these  things 
belong  to  me,  but — " 

"I  would  advise  you  to  wait,  Clegg,  until  the 
constable  has  finished.  His  action  is  most  ir- 
regular at  this  point  of  the  proceedings,  but  he 
has  possibly  been  moved  to  it  by  our  own  inter- 
ruptions." (Then  turning  to  his  clerk.)  "Per- 
haps it  had  been  better  that  we  had  observed  a 
more  strict  regard  to  the  form  and  ceremony  of 
the  quest. ' ' 


THE   DAGGER   AXD    THE    CROSS  277 

"I  have  taken  down  sworn  testimony,  Sir 
George." 

"Very  well.  If  you  think  it  wise  to  explain, 
Master  Clegg,  or  justify  these  exhibits  against 
you,  I  will  hear  you — " 

"Pardon  me,"  said  Vicars,  the  foreman;  "Mrs. 
Clegg  appears  to  be  taken  sick." 

Clegg  turned  at  once  to  his  mother,  who  had 
fallen  forward  in  her  chair.     He  raised  her  up. 

"What  is  it,  mother?" 

"Take  me  into  the  air,  Reuben." 

An  opening  was  at  once  made  by  the  crowd, 
and  Reuben,  lifting  his  mother  into  his  arms, 
carried  her  out.  As  she  la}'  with  her  head  upon 
his  shoulder  she  whispered,  "God  forgive  me, 
Reuben,  I  was  afeared,  and  I  buried  thy  blood- 
stained jerkin;  I  didna'  remember  thou  hadst 
carried  the  man  all  wet  to  the  inn." 

"Dear  mother,  it's  no  matter;  thou  didst  it 
for  the  best." 

"Reuben,  God  has  forsaken  us,"  she  rephed. 
"Thou'rt  lost,  lad,  thou'rt  lost!  Speed  thee 
away,  now.  There's  a  horse  yonder,  i'  Rad- 
ford's stables.  Speed  thee  away,  lad !  God  has 
turned  from  us.  He  no  longer  hears  thy  moth- 
er's prayers.  I'n  lost  all  faith,  this  minute. 
Get  thee  gone,  lad;  fly!  I  know  thou'rt  inno- 
cent; but  how  often  have  thej^  led  the  lamb  to 
the  slaughter — fly,  I  tell  thee,  fljM" 

"Nay,  mother,  that  may  not  be,"  said  Reuben; 
"it  would  look  like  guilt.  Come  back  into  th' 
court,  and  if  the  truth  doesna'  prevail  there's  no 
more  to  be  said.      Perhaps  thy  God   is  only 


278  THE  DAGGER  AND  THE   CROSS 

trying  thy  faith:  nay,  I  wouldna'  give  Him 
up." 

"Oh,  Reuben,  Reuben,  I  have  not  deserved  to 
be  deserted  of  God!  I  canna'  tax  my  sen'  v^i' 
an  ungrateful  thing,  wV  a  sinful  wish ;  but  w^hen 
1  saw  the  blood  upon  thy  jerkin  I  never  thowt 
me  o'  the  innocence  of  it,  seeing  as  thou  carried 
him  to  the  inn." 

"Never  thee  mind,  mother;  come  back  into 
the  court,  and  we'll  see  it  out  together.  There's 
not  a  man  or  woman  there  who  does  not  honor 
thee." 

At  the  doorway  and  in  the  passage  to  the 
court-room  a  clear  way  was  made  to  Mrs. 
Clegg's  place  at  the  table.  Every  one  moved 
aside  in  silence  and  in  awe ;  for  it  had  become 
known,  while  Reuben  was  talking  to  his  mother, 
that  the  constable  had  made  a  formal  objection 
to  Clegg  leaving  the  place.  In  spite  of  Sir 
George's  disapproval,  Dakin  had  asserted  that 
he  considered  Clegg  his  prisoner,  whatever  might 
be  the  verdict  of  the  jury. 

"Before  we  proceed  further,"  said  Sir  George, 
addressing  Clegg  with  undisguised  emotion,  "I 
must  inform  you  that  you  are  formally  charged 
with  the  murder  of  the  man  Ziletto.  Under- 
stand, it  is  not  the  charge  of  this  court,  which  is 
a  court  of  inquiry — not  a  judicial  bench,  but  a 
crowner's  quest.  The  constable,  as  I  have  ex- 
plained to  him,  has  taken  a  most  unusual  course, 
and  one  that  cannot  fail  to  prejudice  his  position 
and  discount  his  evidence." 

"My  blood  be  upon  my  own  bead,"  said  tho 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  279 

constable,  in  a  curious  and  desperate  way;  "but 
duty  is  duty. ' ' 

"And  discretion  is  discretion;  and  discipline 
of  temper  is  not  a  qualification  to  be  despised  in 
a  public  officer,"  said  Sir  George. 
"Who  is  my  accuser?"  asked  Clegg. 
"Constable  Dakin  conceives  it  to  be  his  duty 
to  let  this  court  of  investigation  into  the  cause  of 
the  death  of  Giovanni  Ziletto  understand  that  he 
charges  you  with  the  man's  murder;  he  is  justi- 
fied, he  says,  by  information  in  his  possession 
and  by  these  silent  witnesses — the  jerkin  that  he 
swears  you  wore  last  night,  and  the  knife  with 
bloodstains  upon  it,  the  jerkin  buried  in  your 
garden,  the  knife  hidden  away  in  a  cupboard.  I 
am  bound  to  tell  you,  under  the  circumstances, 
that  the  constable  is  within  his  right  to  consider 
you  under  arrest ;  but  at  the  same  time  you  are 
not  to  understand  that  you  are  necessarily  on 
your  trial  before  this  jury.  Your  position  is,  to 
all  of  us,  I  feel  sure,  one  which  commands  our 
sympathy  and  regret ;  to  me  it  is  one  of  great 
pain." 

A  murmur  of  sympathy  stirred  the  court,  fol- 
lowed by  a  dead  silence. 

Clegg,  holding  his  mother's  trembling  hand, 
said:  "I  am  as  innocent  of  the  death  of  the 
Italian,  Ziletto,  as  any  man  present  can  be.  The 
evidence  gnven  by  Miss  Talbot  was  true,  every 
word  of  it.  Have  you  gotten  it  down  in  your 
book,  Master  Clerk?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  clerk. 

"Then  I'll  be  content  to  say  it  is  true,  and 


280      THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

that  is  my  account  of  the  affair.    As  to  my  bating 
the  Italian,  I  acknowledge  it." 

"Master  Clegg — friend,  let  me  say,"  inter- 
rupted Sir  George,  "I  have  to  warn  yoa  that 
everything  you  say  may  be  used  against  you  on 
your  trial,  should  it  be  your  misfortune  to  be 
committed  by  the  jury  now  assembled  or  by- a 
magisterial  court." 

"Thank  you,  Sir  George;  then  I  will  speak 
more  slowly,  that  the  clerk  may  not  miss  any- 
thing I  have  to  say — but  say  it  I  Avill.  So  I  will 
ask  you  to  offer  me  no  more  warnings,  and  at 
the  same  time  I  will  request  this  man  you  call 
constable  to  stop  glaring  at  me,  lest  I  smite  him 
where  he  stands." 

A  loud  shout  of  applause  greeted  this  threat. 
Clegg  was  not  the  only  one  who  had  observed 
the  ferocious  aspect  of  the  constable,  who,  from 
a  harmless  kind  of  officious  fool,  had  suddenly 
become  a  venomous  overmastering  official,  a  vil 
lage  inquisitor,  who  would  glory  in  pinioning  his 
enemy  and  casting  him  into  the  condemned  cell. 

"Constable,"  said  Sir  George,  "take  your  place 
by  the  clerk,  and  neither  provoke  the  witness  by 
word  nor  look,  at  the  risk  of  the  court's  severe 
admonition." 

"I  humbly  thank  you.  Sir  George,"  said  the 
constable,  his  otherwise  rubicund  face  all  puck- 
ered up,  his  mouth  twitching,  his  eyes  half  hid- 
den in  a  scowl  that  to  many  seemed  to  give  him 
a  new  countenance,  several  persons  remarking, 
when  all  was  over,  that  he  was  so  changed  all  in  a 
minute  that  they  would  hardly  have  known  him- 


THE  DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS  281 

**Tlie  jerkin  which  the  constable  has  produced 
is  mine.  It  is  true  that  I  wore  it  last  night.  Mj" 
mother,  not  considering  that  a  man  could  not 
carry  a  bleeding  corpse  half  a  mile  or  more, 
without  taking  upon  his  jerkin  some  of  the  red 
evidence  of  death,  feared  for  her  son  and  buried 
the  thing;  so  she  has  just  told  me." 

The  constable  smiled  in  a  ghastly  way  at  the 
clerk.  Most  of  the  jurymen  relieved  the  tension 
of  their  minds  with  a  sigh,  whether  of  satisfac- 
tion or  doubt  it  was  not  possible  to  say.  The 
further  silence  was  only  broken  by  the  breathing 
of  the  lookers-on.  Mrs.  Clegg  appeared  to  be 
unconscious,  but  she  was  praying  God  to  forgive 
her  the  doubt  of  His  goodness,  and  appealing  for 
His  interposition  in  favor  of  her  son. 

"The  knife,  too,  is  mine,"  went  on  Reuben, 
"but  I  have  not  worn  it  for  many  months,  and 
the  stains  upon  it  are  not  stains  of  blood.  I  don't 
question  the  honesty  of  the  witnesses  who  have 
been  called,  but  in  most  cases  the  truth  has  been 
distorted  so  as  to  make  it  seem  a  lie.  The  con- 
stable has  done  all  in  his  power  to  make  white 
seem  black,  and,  as  Master  Radford  found  it  so 
have  I,  that  the  deputy-coroner  himself,  with 
an  idea  of  being  impartial,  has  permitted  Dakin 
to  give  a  bias  to  evidence  that  had  no  right  to 
be  brought  forward.  Nay,  Sir  George,  I  am  on 
my  defense,  as  it  seems,  and  it  is  meet  I  avow 
what  is  in  my  mind.  My  own  and  your  daugh- 
ter's account  of  the  death  of  the  man  Ziletto 
shows  no  flaw  of  any  kind.  Before  God  and 
man  she  was  his  wife,  and  I  shall  ask  you  to  call 


282      THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

Signer  Roubillac  on  the  question  of  who  it  was 
that  nicirried  them." 

Bernardo  Roubillac,  who  was  sitting  in  the 
body  of  the  extemporized  court-room,  looked  up 
with  a  frank  smile  of  approval,  and  nodded  to 
Vicars,  the  foreman  of  the  jury,  intimating  his 
willingness  to  make  a  deposition. 

"As  for  the  dead  Italian,  I  own  that  I  hated 
him,"  continued  Clegg.  "It  is  true  that  he  and 
I  had  words  some  time  back,  words  and  blows; 
that  he  drew  a  knife  upon  me ;  equall}-  true  that 
I  spared  him  when  I  might  have  broken  his  back, 
as  he  deserved,  a  scheming,  evil-minded  seducer 
and  fiend  in  human  shape." 

"Reuben!"  said  Mrs.  Clegg,  aroused  from  her 
silent  prayers.     ' '  Reuben ! ' ' 

"And  I  donnat  deny  that  I  have  a  great  and 
an  abiding  contempt  for  the  man  Dakin — a  med- 
dlesome busybody,  weighted  with  the  petty  au- 
thority of  the  constable's  office  and  abusing  it  to 
the  common  danger  and  unrest. ' ' 

"Reuben!"  whispered  Mrs.  Clegg,  clutching 
at  his  sleeve,  "donnat  fly  i'  the  face  of  the  mag- 
istrate; Dakin  is  his  officer,  and — " 

"Nay,  bide  thee  still,  mother,"  said  Reuben, 
turning  aside  for  a  moment  from  his  general  and 
fearless  survey  of  the  jury  and  the  crowd,  "truth's 
often  hid  deep  and  is  as  difficult  to  come  at  as  the 
richest  mineral  treasure  buried  i'  the  bowels  of 
the  earth;  but  it's  there  all  the  same,  and  on 
that  I  build  my  trust. ' ' 

"God  knows  thee,  my  lad,"  his  mother  an- 
swered, more  by  wa^  of  speaking  to  herself  than 


THE    DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  /583 

to  the  court,  "knows  thee  for  th)^  honest  soul; 
but  one  should  not  always  defy  the  schemes  of 
the  wicked." 

"Because  I  dislike  the  constable,  because  I 
hated  the  dastardly  foreigner,  is  that  any  reason 
that  I  should  lower  my  manhood  and  disgrace 
my  nationality  by  murder?  I,  Reuben  Clegg, 
with  a  record  in  the  Hundred  of  the  Peak,  the 
friend  and  partner  of  its  noblest  son,  Sir  George 
Talbot;  a  willful  man,  perhaps,  outspoken  when 
it  might  have  been  better  to  be  reserved,  but  never 
underhand,  never  a  waster,  never  a  plotter,  and 
one  who  always  respected  women.  And  that  is 
all  I  have  to  say  at  present,  except  that  I  would 
rather  die  a  thousand  deaths  than  stand  i'  the 
shoes  of  the  mock  priest  who  gave  Mary  Talbot 
into  the  hands  of  the  villain  who  is  lying  dead  in 
the  room  upstpirs;  and  as  for  being  in  any  way 
the  cause  of  bringing  a  slur  on  the  fair  fame  of 
the  house  of  Talbot,  and  the  honor  of  that  young 
woman  who  stood  before  you  and  told  her  story 
of  betrayal,  and  in  so  doing  did  honor  to  her 
name  and  race  and  evidenced  a  penitent  duty  to 
her  generous  father,  I  would  rather  have  courted 
the  assassin's  knife  or  any  other  death.  After 
all,  life  is  not  worth  having  without  honor  and 
respect.  Sir  George  said  something  about  my 
committal  for  trial;  well,  I'm  willing.  It  will 
be  a  sore  grief  to  this  dear  old  woman  by  my 
side,  but  she  will  find  consolation,  I  make  no 
doubt,  and  I  fervently  hope  so,  in  that  religious 
faith  that  has  not  spared  her  son  from  this  dark, 
unhappy,  and  unjust  hour;  though  I  have  suffi- 


284  THE  da(;ger  and  the  cross 

cient  faith  in  the  natural  i-ighting  of  things  to 
believe  that  this  mystery  will  be  unraveled,  and 
that  yonder  constable  will  not  be  overlooked  in 
the  ultimate  reckoning." 

Sir  George  sat  watching  Clegg  with  a  calm 
expression  of  sympathy  and  pity,  and  when  his 
friend  and  neighbor  sat  down  he  still  kept  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  him,  not  heeding  the  expressions 
of  approval  and  pitying  sobs  that  broke  out  from 
all  parts  of  the  room ;  for  there  were  many  wo- 
men present.  The  deputy-coroner  was,  however, 
presently  aroused  by  the  voice  of  Roubillac,  who, 
in  broken,  but  understandable  English,  expressed 
his  readiness  to  give  evidence,  and  was  duly 
sworn  upon  his  oath  to  tell  "the  truth,  the  whole 
truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth."  He  spoke 
with  a  natural  air  of  honesty  and  good-will  that 
captivated  his  hearers,  most  of  whom  suddenly 
found  themselves  recalling  the  fact  that  he  made 
the  most  beautiful  and  Christian  design  of  all  the 
Well-dressings,  and  the  women  looked  upon  him 
with  interest  as  the  husband  of  the  strangely 
beautiful  woman  who  had  taken  Mary  Talbot  to 
her  arms  and  had  begged  to  go  home  with  her,  an 
incident  that  had  moved  every  heart  in  the  court. 

"On  the  unhappy  night  of  the  death  of  my 
confrere — my  comrade — it  is  most  true  that  I 
saw  Signer  Clegg  standing  in  what  you  call  a 
pose  of  suspicion,  making  watch  of  Ziletto ;  but 
what  more  natural?  They  were  in  rivalry  for  the 
hand  of  Signorina  Talbot,  the  beautiful  daugh- 
ter of  Sir  George.  I  make  bold  to  say  this,  since 
it  accounts  for  what  others  have  said  in  what  I 


THE   DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS  285 

believe  to  be  an  unrighteous  condemnation.  You 
tell  me  I  must  not  offer  opinions,  but  state  what 
I  saw.  It  is  perhaps  because  I  am  foreign  to 
your  customs  that  I  find,  this  diflficult,  but  I 
would  say  that  the  signorina,  loving  Ziletto, 
would  not  be  likely  to  make  shield  of  the  man, 
Clegg,  if  he  had  done  this  deed." 

Roubillac  looked  round  the  court  for  approval 
of  this  suggestion,  and  was  met  with  cries  of 
"The  Itcdiau's  right,"  "That's  true,"  and  so  on. 

' '  What  I  want  you  to  ask  the  witness,  Mr. 
Foreman  Vicars,  or  you.  Sir  George,"  said  Clegg, 
"is  concerning  the  secret  marriage  of  Ziletto  and 
your  daughter." 

Sir  George  thereupon  intimated  that  not  only 
as  a  Court  of  Inquiry,  but  as  a  community,  they 
would  like  to  know  his  views  on  the  subject  just 
mentioned  by  Reuben  Clegg;  the  clerk  would 
only  take  such  note  of  his  reply  as  might  be 
evidence;  he  might  speak  fearlessly,  as  he.  Sir 
George,  hoped  and  believed  he  would  truthfully. 

"Then  it  is  thus.  Sir  George  Talbot,  and  you, 
citizens  of  this  great  country.  I  believe  there 
was  a  ceremony ;  I  do  verily  believe  that  in  her 
own  esteem,  and  even  before  the  Throne  of  the 
Almighty,  your  daughter  is  the  widow  of  Gio- 
vanni Ziletto;  but  I  do  not  think  any  ordained 
priest  performed  the  ceremony  she  has  avouched. " 

The  people  had  breathed  an  inarticulate ' '  Thank 
God !"  at  the  expression  of  Roubillac's  opinion  as 
to  the  widowhood  of  the  village  beauty,  which, 
however,  was  instantly  checked  by  the  assertion 
that  the  marriage  was  not  a  valid  one. 


}i86  THE   DAGCiER  AND   THE   OROftS 

"Wli}'  do  you  think  so?"  asked  Clegg,  quietly. 

"For  the  reason  already  given  hy  the  only  au- 
thorized clergyman  of  our  Faith  now  resident 
among  us,"  said  Roubillac. 

"Since  we  have  become  a  kind  of  village  coun- 
cil on  this  most  unhappy  matter,  rather  than  an 
official  jur3%  will  you  please  state  what  theory 
you  have  formed,  if  any,  touching  the  ceremony 
my  daughter  has  described?" 

' '  What  has  become  of  the  person  who  officiated 
as  the  valet  or  secretary  of  the  dead  Ziletto?" 
asked  Roubillac,  by  way  of  answer. 

"When  you  ask  that  question,  do  you  imply 
that  'twas  he  who  usurped  the  office  of  priest, 
and  so  deceived  Miss  Talbot,  otherwise  Signora 
Ziletto?"  asked  Clegg. 

"It  does  not  become  me  to  impugn  the  honesty 
of  an  absent  man,  even  though  he  was  not  my 
compatriot,"  said  Roubillac,  "but  a  Frenchman." 

"I  do  not  see  the  force  of  that  qualification," 
said  Sir  George.  "We  are  no  respecters  of  per- 
sons, Signer  Roubillac."  (Turning  now  to  the 
constable.)  "Is  anything  known  of  the  man  in 
question?" 

"  It  is  some  time  since  he  left  the  village,  bound 
for  London,  for  what  purpose  I  am  unable  to 
say;  but  the  papers  of  the  deceased  Giovanni  Zi- 
letto may  inform  you  on  examination,  Sir  George, 
with  all  humble  submission." 

"Very  well,"  said  Sir  George.  Turning  once 
more  to  Roubillac,  "Is  that  all  you  have  to  say, 
having  regard  to  the  ceremony  that  was  per- 
formed in  the  Catholic  chapel  of  the  Old  Hall?" 


THE   DAGGER  AND    THE   CROSS  287 

"Yes,  signer,"  said  Roubillac. 

"You  were  a  friend  of  the  dead  man?" 

"Yes." 

"A  great  friend?" 

"He  was  my  compatriot,  and  an  artist." 

"Did  3'ou  at  any  time  have  any  altercation  with 
him?" 

"Oh,  yes,  but  not  here;  in  Venice.  But  we 
were  reconciled." 

' '  Where  were  you  when  this  assassination  took 
place?" 

"At  the  Old  Hall,  with  the  reverend  father 
and  others  at  supper." 

"Had  this  Ziletto  any  enemy  among  your 
people?" 

"Not  to  my  knowledge." 

It  was  remembered  in  after  years  that  Father 
Castelli  withdrew  from  the  court-room  before 
this  cross-examination  was  finished. 

Roubillac,  in  conclusion,  expressed  the  deep 
concern  of  his  countrymen  that  through  their 
presence  any  scandal  should  have  fallen  upon 
Eyam ;  but  they  desired  to  say  that  Ziletto  was 
really  not  of  their  party :  he  had  come  to  Eyam 
of  his  own  will,  and  had  been  received  with  favor 
by  the  reverend  the  clergy  of  the  Protestant 
church,  and  also  by  the  magistrate  himself. 
Any  one  of  his  compatriots  would  have  made 
great  sacrifices  to  have  spared  the  people  who 
had  received  them  so  kindly  from  any  sorrow  or 
perplexity ;  and  they  would  render  every  assist- 
ance in  their  power  to  unravel  the  mystery  that 
surrounded  Ziletto'^  death,  and  to  prove  the  in- 


288      THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

nocence  of  Master  Clegg,  in  which  they  all  most 
fervently  believed. 

And  Signer  Roubillac  was  evidently  much 
moved,  as  were  many  of  the  lookers-on,  cer- 
tain of  his  fellow-countrymen  more  particu- 
larly. 

It  was  night  before  the  last  witness  was  ex- 
amined. The  court  was  adjourned  for  a  few 
minutes,  while  the  candles  were  lighted.  Sir 
George  had  time  to  go  round  to  the  Manor  House 
and  see  how  it  fared  with  his  daughter.  He 
found  her  sitting  silentlj^  in  her  own  room,  her 
head  upon  the  bosom  of  the  Italian  woman,  who 
looked  up  at  him  with  a  tender  smile  on  her  pale 
face.  Mrs.  Dobbs  was  also  in  attendance ;  her 
heart  all  too  full  for  words.  Sir  George  stooped 
to  kiss  Mary  and  press  her  hand.  He  did  not 
speak,  but  presentl}^  beckoned  Mrs.  Dobbs  from 
the  room,  to  learn  that  neither  Francesca  nor  his 
daughter  had  said  a  word.  Mary  seemed  to  cling 
to  the  foreign  woman,  Mrs.  Dobbs  said,  and  she 
had  not  disturbed  them;  it  was  better,  she 
thought,  to  let  such  grief  have  its  quiet  way. 
And  so  Sir  George  went  back  to  the  great  house- 
place  of  the  inn  where  he  was  holding  his  quest. 
It  was  now  illuminated  with  bunches  of  candles 
in  sconces  about  the  room,  and  one  or  two  tall 
attenuated  dips  upon  the  table,  where  the  jury 
had  resumed  their  places.  The  blinds  were  not 
flrawn,  and  the  moon,  which  had  risen  as  it  ap- 
peared to  Sir  George  with  a  strange  speed,  was 
filtering  a  broad  beam  of  soft  light  through  the 
diamond  panes   of   the  window  over  the  heads 


THE   DAGGER   AND    THE    CROSS  289 

of  the  little  crowd  that  still  thronged  the  front 
of  the  inn. 

Sir  George  had  forgotten  that  he  had  lingered 
on  his  way  from  his  house ;  first  by  the  Manor 
House  Well  and  then  in  the  roadway,  without 
any  object  that  was  apparent  for  delaying  his 
return.  He  might  have  been  trj'ing  to  regard 
the  entire  bad  business  as  a  dream,  an  effort  that 
had  been  made  over  and  over  again  by  his  daugh- 
ter. Then  suddenly,  having  laid  aside  his  sor- 
row, he  picked  it  up  again  and  carried  it  into  the 
court-room,  way  being  made  for  him  through 
the  village  throng  with  respect  and  sympathy. 

The  moon  shone  out  full  and  clear  before  Sir 
tjleorge  rose  to  sum  up  the  evidence.  Mrs.  Clegg 
watched  him  with  fascinated  interest.  It  seemed 
to  her  that  Reuben's  life  depended  upon  the  dep- 
uty-coroner's words.  There  was  hope  in  this. 
From  the  first  she  had  experienced  a  fateful  fear 
that  Reuben  was  meshed  in  a  net  from  which  he 
could  not  escape ;  the  more  innocent  he  was,  the 
more  she  feared  his  condemnation.  It  was  as  if 
Fate  had  conspired  against  him,  and  Divine  Prov- 
idence had  deserted  him.  Father  Castelli  had  re- 
turned to  the  court.  Roubillac  had  never  left  it. 
The  constable  had  kept  his  eye  steadily  upon 
Clegg,  who  had  sat  through  the  adjournment, 
his  mother's  hand  in  his.  Vicars,  the  foreman 
of  the  jury  had  been  outside  to  stretch  his  legs 
and  air  his  importance  among  his  fellow-vil- 
lagers. Radford  had  kept  his  seat  at  the  back 
of  the  room,  taking  no  note  of  anybody  or  any- 
thing, for  he  feared  the  constable  had  entangled 


290  THE   DAGGIER   AND   THE   CROSS 

the  feet  of  his  prisoner,  so  as  to  make  escape  a 
difficult  problem.  Mrs.  Radford  and  their  daugh- 
ter had  sought  to  rouse  him  from  his  lethargy ; 
but  Radford  only  said,  "Let  me  a-be." 

Sir  George  reviewed  the  evidence  with  an  al- 
most strained  impartiality.  He  was  so  anxious 
to  fulfill  his  duties  correctly  that  he  laid  more 
emphasis  than  was  really  necessary  upon  the 
points  that  appeared  to  tell  against  Clegg,  more 
particularly  those  which  might  be  regarded  as 
suggesting  premeditation  to  meet  Ziletto,  pre- 
meditation to  kill  him.  He  did  not  even  pass 
over  the  question  of  rivalry  for  his  daughter's 
hand,  nor  the  unexplained  presence  of  Clegg 
near  My  Lady's  Bower  at  an  unseemly  hour, 
an  hour  which  under  the  circumstances  was  not 
strange  in  the  case  of  the  deceased,  who  was  his 
daughter's  husband.  It  was  true  that  the  clergy- 
man known  as  Father  Castelli,  by  whom  she  be- 
lieved herself  to  have  been  married  to  Ziletto,  in- 
timated that  some  one  had  impersonated  him ;  but 
to  all  intents  and  purposes,  in  view  of  all  the  con- 
ditions of  the  case,  his  daughter  was  the  widow 
of  the  dead  man.  A  sympathetic  murmur  of  ap- 
proval went  up  on  all  hands,  and  Clegg  was  glad 
that  Sir  George  took  this  view  with  his  daugh- 
ter, who  would  thus  find  some  small  relief  touch- 
ing her  injured  innocence  and  dignity  and  the 
violence  she  had  done  to  her  father's  feelings  in 
making  a  secret  union  with  Ziletto.  Sir  George, 
after  relating  to  the  jury  the  sad  story,  and  com- 
menting on  its  legal  and  moral  features,  his  heart 
torn  with  misery  the  while,  pointed  out  to  them 


THE    DAOGER   AND    THE   CROSS  291 

the  several  courses  that  were  open  for  them  to 
pursue,  and  then  left  them  to  consider  their  ver- 
dict. 

The  constable  asked  if  they  would  like  to  re- 
tire to  another  room,  or  have  this  one  cleared 
while  they  deliberated ;  to  which  they  said ' ' No, ' ' 
and  at  once  proceeded  to  take  counsel  with  each 
other  in  subdued  tones,  occasionally  pausing  to 
ask  Sir  George  or  his  clerk  a  question.  Presently 
they  came  to  a  decision,  which,  being  formulated 
by  the  clerk,  was  to  the  effect  that  to  tlie  best  of 
their  judgment,  according  to  the  evidence  that 
had  been  sworn  before  them,  Giovanni  Ziletto 
had  come  by  his  death  violently,  and  they  found 
a  verdict  of  "Willful  murder  against  some  per- 
son or  persons  unknown." 

So  far,  therefore,  as  they  were  concerned,  thej' 
acquitted  Reuben  Clegg  of  anj'  complicity  in  the 
crime.  The  verdict  was  received  with  applause. 
The  constable  stepped  forward,  nevertheless,  and 
claimed  Reuben  Clegg  as  his  prisoner,  on  the 
charge  of  being  privy  to  Ziletto 's  death.  But 
for  the  interposition  of  Sir  George,  he  would 
have  been  assaulted  by  the  villagers,  who  saw 
in  Dakin's  action  nothing  short  of  a  malicious 
and  vengeful  persecution. 

"Come  what  maj'","  said  Clegg,  "I  will  not 
surrender  to  Humphrey  Dakin." 

"But  you  will  surrender  to  me,"  said  a  power- 
ful-looking man,  who  had  just  pushed  his  way 
into  the  court,  his  horse,  in  a  white  lather,  being 
tied  to  the  stoop  by  the  outer  porch. 

"Master  Summers  Wood,"  said  Sir  George, 


292      THK  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

"  you  mj'.ko  a  timely,  if  regrettable  appear- 
ance." 

"I  am  here  by  order  of  Sir  Walter  Cant  rill, 
your  fellow  Justice  of  the  Peace;  and  I  beg'  that 
.Master  Reuben  Clegg  will  ninke  a  peaceful  sur- 
render to  the  warrant  I  hold  for  liis  arrest." 

The  new-comer  handed  a  document  to  Sir 
George,  who  pronounced  it  to  be  in  order. 

"Master  Clegg,  I  conceive,  has  no  other  course 
but  to  make  submission,"  said  Sir  George;  "and 
I  may  observe  that  before  my  neighbor,  Sir  Wal- 
ter, a  magistrate  of  known  honorable  impartial- 
ity and  high  moral  repute,  he  will  have  the  op- 
portunity to  complete  his  proper  defense,  calling 
evidence  and  making  plain  all  the  circumstances 
in  his  favor,  which,  to  my  thinking,  he  has  neg- 
lected in  this  inquiry." 

"I  thank  you,  Sir  George.  If  a  man's  inno- 
cence is  to  be  put  into  the  scale  against  innuendo, 
malice,  fateful  coincidence  and  the  like,  it  seems 
to  me  it  may  need  more  than  truth  to  make  it 
apparent ;  but  I  leave  myself  in  the  hands  of  my 
countrymen  and  the  Law." 

DaMn,  it  will  be  seen,  had  lost  no  time  in  an- 
ticipating the  possible  verdict  of  the  crowner's 
quest ;  though  its  finding  made  no  legal  differ- 
ence to  the  position  he  had  taken  up.  His  mes- 
senger to  another  magistrate  had,  however,  so 
well  explained  the  prejudice  in  favor  of  Clegg 
and  the  difficulty  of  Dakin's  position,  the  violence 
of  the  man,  his  physical  strength,  his  known 
threats,  and  his  notorious  atheism  (Sir  Walter 
Cantrill  was  a  strict  Presbyterian),  that  imme- 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  293 

diate  action  had  been  taken  to  bring  Clegg  be- 
fore an  impartial  Justice,  who  would  have  no 
difficulty  in  sending  the  case  for  trial  at  the 
forthcoming  jail  deliver}'  for  the  county. 

And  so  it  came  to  pass  that,  at  the  next  As- 
size, Reuben  Clegg  was  arraigned,  found  guilty, 
and  sentenced  to  be  hanged. 


CHAPTER   THIRTY-FIVE 

BAR,     BENCH,     AND    PRISONER 

Reuben  Clegg  was  the  victim  of  a  deftly 
handled  case  of  circumstantial  evidence.  More- 
over, the  accused  made  a  bad  impression  upon 
the  jury.  His  manner  was  both  arrogant  and 
defiant.  He  more  than  once  interrupted  the  evi- 
dence, in  spite  of  rebukes  from  the  judge.  The 
prosecuting  lawyer  had  taken  a  special  pride  in 
presenting  the  case  to  counsel  with  every  detail 
of  apparent  "malice  aforethought"  on  the  part 
of  the  prisoner. 

There  was  an  element  of  romance  in  the  case 
that  lifted  it  out  of  the  common  ruck  of  trials. 
Master  Summers  Wood,  in  his  collection  of  evi- 
dence, had  taken  into  his  inner  consciousness 
something  of  the  tone  of  Sir  Walter  Cantrill's 
prejudice  against  Clegg,  whose  independence  of 
thought  and  expression  in  regard  to  religion  he 
resented  with  the  intensity  of  a  bigot  and  the 
partiality  of  an  inferior  intellect.    Clegg 's  avowed 


394      THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

hostility  to  the  Italian,  his  acknowledged  encoun- 
ter with  him,  and  his  challenge  to  meet  him  with 
whatever  weapon  he  might  choose,  their  rivalry 
for  the  hand  of  Miss  Talbot,  Clegg's  shadowing 
of  the  Italian  on  the  night  of  the  murder,  his 
quarrel  with  him  in  Miss  Talbot's  presence,  and 
the  almost  immediate  stabbing  of  the  deceased, 
were  set  forth  to  the  jury  by  counsel  with  close 
fidelity  to  the  known  facts  and  a  subtle  interpre- 
tation of  doubtful  points.  The  burial  of  Clegg's 
blood-stained  jerkin,  the  finding  of  a  knife,  which 
Clegg  denied  to  be  blood-stained,  but  which  was 
proved  to  be  thus  indelibly  marked,  though  in 
reality  of  no  proper  moment  in  the  story,  carried 
weight  with  the  jury;  and  the  things  had  an 
ugly  appearance  as  they  lay  before  the  court  by 
the  side  of  other  legal  exhibits. 

Counsel  regarded  the  statement  of  Miss  Talbot 
about  the  hand  that  reached  out  of  the  darkness, 
and  the  shadowy  figure  that  came  between  Clegg 
and  Ziletto,  as  a  charitable  effort  on  the  part  of 
the  witness  to  shield  her  rejected  lover  and  the 
friend  of  her  father  that  was  not  to  be  taken  seri- 
ously— not  the  smallest  tittle  of  evidence  having 
been  forthcoming  to  show  that  any  other  person 
had  been  seen  in  the  immediate  neighborhood  at 
the  time,  or  that  any  other  person  besides  Clegg 
had  any  cause  of  quarrel  with  Ziletto,  or  had  ex- 
pressed any  animosity  toward  him.  Indeed,  the 
presence  elsewhere  of  nearly  every  person  in  the 
village  at  the  time  of  the  murder  could  be  ac- 
counted for.  The  mystery  of  the  strange  and 
not  unromantic  union  of  Ziletto  with  Mary  Tal- 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  295 

bot  by  some  unordained  person,  confederate  with 
Ziletto  as  it  seemed,  was  no  doubt  explained  by 
the  suggestion  of  Signor  Bernardo  Roubillac, 
who,  at  the  inquest  held  by  the  deputy-coroner 
at  Eyam,  had  asked  what  had  become  of  the 
mj^sterious  individual  who  had  acted  as  Ziletto's 
body-servant,  and  who  had  disappeared  without 
leaving  the  slightest  clew  to  his  whereabout. 

For  the  defense,  counsel  had  argued  that  if 
this  was  the  man  who  had  usurped  Father  Cas- 
telli's  sacred  place  in  the  chapel  of  the  Old  Hall, 
he  might  also  be  the  fourth  person  in  the  melan- 
choly incident  that  had  led  to  the  arraignment 
of  Reuben  Clegg,  about  whose  innocence,  he  con- 
tended, no  unprejudiced  mind  could  have  any 
doubt  whatever.  The  learned  advocate  dwelt 
upon  the  manful  character  of  the  prisoner,  his 
honest,  open  life,  his  fearlessness — the  fearless- 
ness of  innocence — and  the  prejudice  that  had 
been  imported  into  the  case  on  account  of  his  re- 
ligious belief,  or,  as  his  learned  friend  had  sug- 
gested, his  lack  of  religious  belief — his  denial  of 
all  evidence  of  Divine  interposition  in  human 
affairs,  his  Atheism  in  short,  which  the  prisoner 
repudiated,  holding,  as  he  no  doubt  did,  a  rever- 
ent belief  in  that  first  great  originating  cause  of 
all  things  which  they  called  God,  and  which  the 
prisoner  called  Nature.  He  maintained  that  it 
was  an  outrage  upon  the  fair  and  impartial  ad- 
ministration of  justice  to  permit  questions  of  doc- 
trine to  give  a  bias  to  the  minds  of  the  jury  in 
the  interpretation  of  evidence.  He  deeply  re- 
gretted to  see  that  the  prosecution  had  permitted. 


296  THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSf? 

and,  indeed,  had  encouraged  this  bias  against 
the  prisoner,  who,  in  ever}^  relation  of  hfe,  had 
proved  himself  to  be  an  honorable  and  worthy 
citizen. 

If  the  prosecution  had  left  no  stone  unturned 
that  might  bring  about  the  prisoner's  condemna- 
tion, the  defense  was  conducted  with  no  less  skill ; 
but  all  to  no  purpose.  The  jury  were  strangers 
to  Clegg ;  they  lind  not  lived  in  Eyam  to  know 
and  judge  of  his  character  as  the  jury  of  the 
crowner's  quest  had;  they  had  not  seen  him 
build  up  his  career  of  honesty  and  independence ; 
they  had  no  knowledge  of  the  friendship  of  Sir 
George  Talbot  for  the  prisoner;  had  never  seen 
the  prisoner's  mother  until  that  day  of  the  trial; 
and  counsel  for  the  prosecution  had  urged  them 
not  to  let  it  be  said  that  they  were  indifferent  to 
the  assassination  of  a  stranger  who  had  trusted 
to  the  hospitality  and  honor  of  the  country,  who 
in  a  spirit  of  good  feeling  had  taken  part  in  the 
local  celebration  of  the  Wells,  and  whose  only 
crime  was  that  he  had  fallen  in  love  with  the 
belle  of  the  village,  whom  he  would  have  mar- 
ried openly  if  he  had  believed  he  could  have 
obtained  the  consent  of  her  father. 

It  was  on  this  point  that  counsel  for  the  defense 
had  found  his  opportunity  to  demolish  what  he 
stigmatized  as  the  maudlin  sentimentality,  not 
to  say  indecent  condonement,  of  the  prosecution's 
treatment  of  the  union  of  Ziletto  and  Mn,ry  Tal- 
bot, "a  union  that  was  characterized  b}^  mean- 
ness and  fraud,  a  union  that  was  the  grossest  act 
of  deceit  thai  a  man  could  put  upon  a  woman,  a 


THE   DAGGER    AJTD   THE    CROSS  297 

fraud   that   was   sacrilegious,    and  worse    than 
a  common  seduction." 

A  buzz  of  reawakened  interest  moved  the 
crowded  court  at  these  words;  Mary  Talbot 
clung'  closer  to  her  father's  side,  the  prisoner 
flushed  for  a  moment  with  a  passing  sense  of 
the  glory  of  free  speech,  the  jury  were  moved 
with  a  new  impulse  of  interest  in  the  case,  and 
counsel,  with  the  dignity  of  a  judge  pronounc- 
ing judgment,  continued  his  denunciation  of  the 
deceased. 

"I  am  grieved,  my  lord  and  gentlemen  of  the 
jury,  to  be  compelled  to  put  this  feature  of  the 
case  in  its  proper  light.  My  learned  friend, 
counsel  for  the  prosecution,  forces  me  to  do  so. 
He  has,  with  a  dexterity  that  is  to  be  deplored 
rather  than  admired,  endeavored  to  disjDarage 
the  prisoner  by  the  importation  of  an  element 
of  meretricious  sentiment  into  the  relationship  of 
Mary  Talbot  and  Giovanni  Ziletto  that  might  be 
well  calculated  to  excite,  in  the  minds  of  the  un- 
reflecting, a  feeling  of  pity  for  the  man  who  is 
dead,  thus  importing  an  added  prejudice  against 
the  prisoner.  But  in  the  estimation  of  everj' 
thoughtful  Englishman  who  does  not  forget  the 
respect  due  to  his  mother,  this  scoundrel  Ziletto, 
this  betra3"er  of  a  pure  and  lovely  woman,  this 
ruffian  who  had  outraged  the  ho;'.pitality  of  an 
English  village  to  betray  the  sweet  and  innocent 
daughter  of  its  chief  and  most  respected  inhabit- 
ant, was  as  hateful  in  his  life  as  he  must  be  de- 
spised in  his  death.  Considering  the  nature  of 
his  offense,  it  might  well  be  that  the  hand  of 


298      THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

Heaven  was  active  in  his  removal  from  a  world 
in  which  he  was  not  fit  to  live." 

From  a  murmur  of  approval  there  arose  at  the 
back  of  the  court,  among  a  group  of  Eyamites, 
a  shout  of  applause,  which  prompted  the  judge  to 
administer  more  than  a  mild  rebuke  to  counsel 
for  what  he  conceived  to  be  an  extraordinary 
trespass  on  the  privileges  of  the  bar,  the  dignity 
of  the  court,  and  the  decent  observance  of  the 
motto,  "Mortuis  non  conviciandum" ;  but  the 
advocate's  blood  was  up,  and  as  if  inspired  by 
the  courage  and  innocence  of  the  prisoner,  and 
in  sympathy  with  the  beautiful  girl  who  had 
been  so  shamefully  betrayed,  he  faced  the  judge, 
and  with  an  impatient  gesture  continued  his  de- 
nunciation of  Ziletto. 

"My  lord,  I  bow  to  your  rebuke,  with  such  re- 
spectful submission  as  the  discipline  of  the  bar 
and  your  high  authority  may  command,  but  I 
am  not  to  be  stayed  in  what  I  conceive  to  be 
the  performance  of  my  duty  by  the  questionable 
wit  of  a  fusty  proverb.  Judas  is  dead.  Do  we 
speak  well  of  him?  Tarquin  is  no  more.  Did 
the  ancients,  who  made  that  proverb,  speak  well 
of  him?  Shall  I  acquit  Giovanni  Ziletto,  who 
was  the  worst  of  the  three,  because  he  has  been 
slain  at  the  very  height  of  his  villainy?  No,  my 
lord;  nor,  furthermore,  will  I  hesitate  to  say  that 
the  earth  is  well  rid  of  one  whose  existence  was 
a  reproach  to  his  Maker.  'Twere  hard  that  any 
man  should  suffer  for  his  death,  even  if  he  were 
guilty  of  it;  but  if  the  'manes'  of  such  a  creature 
are  to  have  a  sacrifice,  let  it  not  be  the  innocent 


THE  DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  299 

man  who  has  borne  the  ignominy  of  standing  in 
the  dock  for  a  crime  of  which  all  his  antecedents 
show  him  to  be  utterly  incapable,  and  whose  con- 
duct before  the  court  during  these  proceedings 
has  been  that  of  an  upright  and  honorable  man." 

Nevertheless,  the  jury  returned  a  verdict  of 
** Guilty,"  and  the  judge,  without  holding  out 
the  smallest  hope  of  reprieve,  sentenced  the 
prisoner  to  death — a  fiat  that  seemed  at  once 
to  have  slain  Clegg's  mother,  who  was  carried 
out  of  court.  Mary  Talbot  was  hardly  less  over- 
come ;  and  Clegg  himself  stood  gazing  vacantly 
on  the  scene,  as  if  he  had  not  realized  what  had 
happened,  until  a  warder  touched  him  upon  the 
shoulder  and  he  submitted  to  be  removed. 

That  same  night,  Roubillac  and  his  wife  left 
for  Italy.  He  claimed  that,  so  far  as  his  work 
was  concerned,  it  was  completed.  He  had  made 
all  the  necessary  designs.  These  would  now  be 
carried  out  by  the  workmen  whom  he  left  behind. 
Moreover,  his  wife's  health  was  suffering,  and' 
he  feared  to  subject  her  to  the  severity  of  an- 
other winter  in  the  Peak.  Father  CastelU  knew 
that  Roubillac  had  only  come  to  Eyam  to  escape 
Ziletto.  He  and  his  wife  had  contemplated  an 
excuse  for  returning  to  Italy  as  soon  as  Ziletto 
had  appeared  in  the  North.  Now  that  he  was 
dead,  their  plans  of  life  need  no  longer  be  other 
than  those  which  had  only  been  disarranged  by 
Ziletto's  conspiracy  against  their  happinesg. 


i^'--.- 


300  THE  DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS 

CHAPTER  THIRTY-SIX 

CLEGG    ESCAPES    FROM    PRISON 

Prison-breaking  in  those  days  was  not  an 
infrequent  occurrence;  and  yet  the  escape  of 
Reuben  Clegg,  within  a  week  of  his  condemna- 
tion and  during  the  signing  of  a  petition  in  his 
favor  headed  by  the  leading  men  of  the  North, 
created  a  profound  sensation. 

It  was  thouglit  that  one  or  more  officers  of  the 
prison  had  been  bribed  to  facihtate  the  prisoner's 
flight,  for  not  only  had  he  been  able  to  remove 
the  bars  of  his  cell  and  to  scale  the  walls  of  the 
prison-yard,  but,  beyond  the  debris  that  littered 
his  track  within  the  jail,  no  trace  of  him  was  to 
be  found  on  the  outside  of  the  stronghold. 

A  magisterial  inquiry  discovered  a  breach  of 
regulations  that,  without  assistance,  could  alone 
have  enabled  the  prisoner  to  escape.  After  con- 
demnation it  was  understood  that  a  prisoner  was 
under  surveillance  night  and  day ;  but  this  pre- 
caution had  fallen  into  abeyance.  Capital  pun- 
ishment was  not  limited,  as  in  our  day,  to  cases 
of  willful  murder.  They  hanged  a  man  for  horse- 
stealing, forgery,  house-breaking,  highway  rob- 
bery, and  for  many  minor  offenses.  It  may  well 
have  come  to  pass,  therefore,  that  the  regulation 
which  gave  the  condemned  criminal  a  continual 
companion  in  a  watchful  warder  should  fall  into 
disuse. 


THE   DAGGER  ANT)   THE   CROSS  30i 

Escapes  from  constables  and  the  round-houses 
or  lock-ups  of  A-illages  and  towns  were  common 
enough,  and  recaptures  were  unusual.  The  Jack 
Sheppards  and  Spring-heel  Jacks  of  the  following 
century  had  their  predecessors  in  the  ages  before 
them.  What  surprises  one  most,  in  reading 
up  the  criminal  history  of  the  seventeenth  and 
eighteenth  centuries,  is  the  easy  way  in  which 
criminals,  detected  in  one  district,  simply  re- 
moved to  another  and  renewed  their  depreda- 
tions, and  thus  continued  careers  of  crime  year 
after  year  without  arrest;  and  in  the  event  of 
arrest  and  escape,  how  little  and  how  futile  were 
the  efforts  at  recapture. 

The  tragedy  at  Eyam  and  the  romance  of 
Reuben  Clegg,  his  defiant  attitude  before  the 
jury,  tlie  bold  defense  of  counsel,  the  scene  be- 
tween the  Bench  and  the  Bar,  the  curious  ro- 
mance of  the  story  and  the  unexpected  con- 
demnation of  Clegg,  hadhfted  the  case  out  of 
the  ordinary  catalogue  of  the  current  Assize, 
at  which  some  dozen  malefactors  had  been  sen- 
tenced to  be  hanged.  An  ordinary  prisoner 
escaping,  the  general  public  would  probably 
have  heard  nothing  of  it;  but  the  escape  of 
Clegg  at  once  became  notorious,  to  lapse,  how- 
ever, into  the  usual  nine  days'  wonder  and  soon 
become  forgotten,  except  in  that  little  mountain 
village  of  the  Peak,  Avhere  it  was  an  incident  of 
daily  note  and  comment. 

The  annual  Wake  of  E^^am  was  an  institution 
of  such  local  importance  that  even  tlio  execution 
of  Clegg  would  Jiot  have  put  it  aside,  any  more 


302  THE   DAGGER  AND   TITI]   CROSS 

than  harvest  or  Christmas;  but  everybody  ad 
mitted  that  the  event  was  relieved  of  a  great 
shadow  by  the  knowledge  that  Reuben  Clegg 
was  at  liberty;  for,  apart  from  the  sympathy 
that  was  felt  for  his  mother  and  the  Talbots, 
nobody,  except  the  constable,  believed  in  his 
guilt,  and  in  Dakin's  conviction  there  was  un- 
doubtedly the  impulse  of  malice. 

Ever  since  it  had  become  an  assured  fact  that 
Clegg  was  at  large,  Dakin  had  slept  with  a 
loaded  pistol  by  his  side,  and  many  a  night  he 
had  started  up  in  his  dreams  to  use  it  against  the 
attack  of  Clegg.  It  had  been  borne  in  upon  the 
constable's  troubled  mind  that  it  was  his  fate  to 
be  murdered  in  the  night.  Nowhere  in  the  vil- 
lage was  he  received  with  even  a  shadow  of 
cordiality.  Sir  George  Talbot  observed  his 
humble  salute  with  the  barest  recognition;  the 
Rev.  George  Mompesson  had  almost  created  a 
scandal  in  the  village  by  refusing  to  administer 
the  Holy  Sacrament  to  him  on  the  Sundays  set 
apart  for  that  solemn  celebration;  Radford  did 
not  check  his  hostility  to  the  constable;  and 
Vicars,  with  all  his  suavity,  found  it  diflScult 
to  be  civil  to  him. 

Mary  Talbot  went  about  the  village,  as  was 
her  former  habit,  visiting  the  poor,  helping  the 
sick,  and  taking  her  share  in  the  management 
of  local  affairs.  The  Mompesson  children  wel- 
comed her  with  delight,  as  they  had  always 
done  when  she  visited  the  rectory,  but  their 
greetings  were  no  longer  boisterous;  they  had, 
with  the  adults  of  the  village,  come  under  the 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS  303 

influence  of  a  certain  wistful  expression  in  her 
eyes  and  a  sedateness  of  manner  that  touched 
then*  hearts  and  brought  from  them  a  sympa- 
thetic response  of  feehng.  She  now  and  then 
walked  to  Mrs.  Clegg's  cottage  and  sat  with  her, 
and  talked  of  Reuben,  and  wondered  with  her 
where  he  was,  and  encouraged  her  to  hope  for 
his  speedy  return ;  for  the  petition  for  his  pardon 
was  still  being  signed.  Sir  George  had  employed 
agents  in  every  part  of  the  county  to  increase 
its  length  and  importance,  and  was  continually 
engaged  in  correspondence  with  the  authorities 
in  London. 

Mrs.  Clegg  had  found  comfort  in  prayer.  She 
regarded  her  son's  escape  as  a  Divine  interposi- 
tion. His  angel  had  unlocked  the  prison  gates, 
as  one  day  He  would  unlock  his  heart  to  the 
comforting  messages  of  Jesus  Christ  and  a  grate- 
ful belief  in  the  saving  grace  of  the  Cross. 

Several  of  the  Italians,  following  the  example 
of  Roubillac,  had  returned  to  their  native  land. 
Those  who  remained  rarely  came  into  the  vil- 
lage. Father  Castelli  had,  however,  continued 
to  cultivate  the  friendship  of  Sir  George  and  the 
Mompessons,  and  responded  promptly  to  any 
inquiries  touching  the  painful  incident  of  the 
impersonation  of  himself  in  the  union  of  Mary 
Talbot  and  his  countryman,  Ziletto.  It  was  on 
the  suggestion  of  Mr.  Mompesson  that  the  kindly 
priest  had  opened  up  a  correspondence  with  his 
brother  of  Venice,  Father  Lorenzo,  in  view  of 
an  application  to  the  Pope  to  confirm  the  mar- 
riage of  Mary  and  Ziletto,  so  that,  in  truth  and 


804      THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  0ROS3 

according  to  the  Catholic  Church,  she  might  be 
what  she  claimed  to  be,  the  legal  widow  of 
Giovanni  Ziletto.  The  priest  did  not  apprise 
them  of  the  almost  impossible  character  of  their 
plea;  but  he  nevertheless  reported  it  to  Lorenzo, 
and  they  discussed  it  by  letter.  Mr.  Mompesson 
argued  that,  their  Church  accepting  the  infalli- 
bility of  the  Pope,  his  holiness  could  do  this 
thing;  and  if  not,  he  was  not  sure  in  his  own 
mind  that  it  could  not  be  achieved  in  England 
by  an  Act  of  Parliament.  Nothing  seemed  im- 
possible to  Mompesson  in  such  a  case,  where  the 
union  had  been  solemnized  in  the  words  of  the 
Catholic  Church  and  before  its  altar ;  but  the 
rector  of  Eyam  was  an  enthusiast  for  the  right, 
and  he  loved  Mary  Talbot  as  devotedly  as  if  she 
had  been  his  own  daughter,  and  his  wife  re- 
garded her  as  a  sister. 

Furthermore,  with  adversity  there  had  come 
to  Mary  Talbot  a  dignity  of  speech  and  an  eleva- 
tion of  manner  that  appeared  to  give  her  some- 
thing of  the  attribute  of  saintship.  And  yet 
there  was  nothing  austere  in  the  change;  if  it 
was  saint-like,  it  was  sweet  and  gracious,  but 
uplifted,  and  it  was  characteristic  of  the  cheer- 
fulness of  a  heavenly  martj^rdom.  In  former 
days,  when  the  most  daring  lads  of  the  Hundred 
hardly  ventured  upon  a  smiling  glance  at  her  as 
she  took  her  father's  arin  on  the  Sabbath,  and 
left  the  church  while  the  choir  sang  its  voluntary 
as  the  congregation  left  the  sacred  house,  there 
were  still,  now  and  then,  youngsters  from  a  dis- 
tance, visiting  at  the  Old  Hall  or  passing  through 


THE   DAGGER  AND  THE   (^ROSS  305 

the  Peak,  who  challenged  her  attention  with  ad- 
miring glances;  but  now,  the  humblest  looked  at 
her  without  fear  and  with  undisguised  meaning : 
that  they  were  hers,  body  and  soul,  her  cham- 
pions, her  fellow-villagers,  sworn  believers  in 
her  word,  every  one  of  them,  never  once  forget- 
ting to  call  her  Madam  or  Signora  Ziletto,  or  the 
good  widow  Ziletto,  or  the  good  Sir  George's 
widowed  daughter. 


CHAPTER  THIRTY-SEVEN 

ZILETTO'S   FATAL   GIFT 

And  so  time  passed,  and  the  village  Wake 
came  on.  It  was  originally  the  parochial  feast 
of  the  dedication  of  the  church.  At  the  time  of 
this  history  it  had  already  become  wliat  it  re- 
mains to-day  throughout  the  Midlands,  the  prin- 
cipal village  holiday  of  the  year,  and  it  lasted 
then,  as  it  does  at  the  present  day,  for  a  whole 
week.  In  the  spring  Eyam  had  its  Well-dress- 
ing, and  in  the  autumn  its  Wake;  the  latter  a 
festival  of  holiday  and  mirth,  a  re-union  of 
friends,  a  renewal  of  clothes,  a  cleaning  of 
houses,  and  a  feast  of  meat  and  drink.  The 
village  Green  was  filled  with  stalls  and  booths, 
itinerant  shows,  and  amusements  of  all  kinds. 
There  were  mountebanks  and  quack  doctors, 
hawkers  as  voluble  as  Autolycus,  and  with  as 
varied  a  pack,  tumblers,  rope-walkers,  dancing 


306  THE  DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS 

bears,  and  every  kind  of  novelty  to  entertain  the 
villagers  and  their  guests,  and  win  from  them 
large  contributions  from  their  savings  of  the 
year.  Visitors  came  for  miles  round,  relations, 
friends,  and  others,  merely  on  pleasure  bent. 
There  was  open  house  right  through  the  village ; 
and  it  was  remarked  that  there  had  never  been 
so  gay  a  feast.  It  is  not  improbable  that,  in- 
stead of  the  incident  of  the  murder  of  Ziletto 
keeping  people  away,  many  came  to  Eyam  for 
the  first  time,  attracted  by  a  morbid  curiosity  to 
see  the  place  where  the  Italian  had  been  killed 
outside  My  Lady's  Bower,  and  to  catch  a 
glimpse,  perhaps,  of  Mary  Talbot,  who  called 
herself  his  widow,  and  of  others  who  had  figured 
in  the  trial  of  Reuben  Clegg,  whose  escape  from 
the  prison  stronghold  was  not  the  least  remark  • 
able  chapter  in  this  romance  of  the  mountain 
village. 

Except  that  Sir  George  and  his  daughter, 
while  they  did  not  quit  the  village  during  the 
Wake,  took  no  part  in  the  festival,  the  event 
was  not  shorn  of  a  particle  of  its  gayety  by  the 
tragedy  of  the  Well-dressing.  Moreover,  Lady 
Staff ord-Bradshaw  and  her  husband  (with  a 
score  of  guests  in  their  train)  had  returned  from 
foreign  parts  to  take  up  their  permanent  abode 
at  the  Old  Hall. 

The  weather  was  lovely.  There  had  been  an 
abundant  harvest.  And  hardly  a  single  guest 
left  the  village  until  the  end  of  the  week,  which 
was  made  more  than  ever  notable  by  the  Staf- 
ford-Bradshaws  opening  the  Old  Hall  grounds 


THE   DAGGER   AXD    THE    CROSS  307 

to  all  comers,  first  having,  in  an  adjacent  mead- 
ow, an  ox  roasted  whole  and  tables  and  benches 
set  out,  with  bread  and  beer  enough  to  feast  as 
many  as  cared  to  partake  of  the  rough  but  hon- 
est fare.  In  the  twilight,  lamps  and  lanterns 
were  lighted  on  the  lawn,  and  there  was  dancing 
until  ten  o'clock.  Lady  Stafford  herself  and  all 
her  guests  joining  in  the  festivity,  which  is 
recorded  to  this  day  as  the  last  time  that  the 
music  of  song  and  dance  was  heard  within  the 
precincts  of  the  Old  Hall  grounds;  and  the 
tramps  and  mountebanks,  the  showmen  and 
peddlers,  had  barely  cleared  out  of  the  village  on 
the  Monday,  and  the  miners  in  the  Winship,  the 
weavers  in  the  village,  the  housekeepers  and 
farmers  once  more  returned  to  their  ordinary 
labors,  looking  forward  to  their  next  merry- 
making, ere  the  cloud  of  a  new  calamity  over- 
shadowed the  tragedy  of  My  Lady's  Bower,  as 
Froggatt's  Edge  might,  by  comparison,  blot  out 
a  mole-hill;  so  dire  was  it,  so  overwhelming, 
and  yet  so  full  of  heroic  inspiration,  that  imagi- 
nation stands  confounded  at  its  unparalleled 
martyrdom. 

It  was  on  the  last  day  of  the  "Wake  that  Vicars 
received  a  parcel  of  costumes  and  finery  from 
London  that  delighted  his  heart.  It  would  have 
given  him  a  keener  pleasure  if  the  treasures  had 
not  come  through  the  medium  of  the  murdered 
Itahan.  Ziletto,  as  we  know,  had  promised  the 
artistic  village  tailor  samples  of  the  highest  Lon- 
don fashions;  and,  although  it  was  more  es- 
pecially to  present  Marj  Talbot  with  certain 


308      THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

articles  of  dress  and  personal  decoration  that  he 
had  sent  his  man  to  London,  with  special  in- 
structions and  provided  with  ample  funds  for 
this  purpose,  Pedro  was  to  have  returned  in  time 
for  the  Well-dressing  in  May;  but  this  was  only 
known  to  master  and  man,  and  while  the  first 
was  dead  before  the  springs  of  Eyam  had  been 
denuded  of  their  brave  tributes  of  art,  the  second 
was  still  absent,  though  it  was  now  late  August, 
and  the  feast  the  people  had  talked  so  much 
about  to  Ziletto  had  come,  with  its  fun  and 
frolic,  its  merry-making,  its  happy  meetings  of 
old  friends,  and  its  joyous  renewals  of  family  ties 
and  old  associations. 

The  valet's  absence  had  been  accounted  for — 
in  most  minds — by  the  man's  sacrilegious  imper- 
sonation of  the  priest,  Castelli,  in  the  union  of 
the  hands  of  Mary  Talbot  and  Giovanni  Ziletto; 
and  the  authorities  had  endeavored  to  discover 
the  hiding-place  of  the  absconding  ally  of  the 
dead  man.  So  far  as  their  investigations  were 
concerned,  it  seemed  as  if  from  the  moment 
Pedro  had  disappeared  over  the  white  road  lead- 
ing southward,  he  had  become  invisible ;  but  it 
was  not  easy  to  follow  the  comings  and  goings 
of  men  in  those  days,  much  less  to  bring  to  book 
delinquents  who  had  fled  from  the  scenes  of  their 
villainies,  and  the  mysterious  attendant  of  Ziletto 
was  almost  forgotten,  when  Vicars  received  from 
him  a  letter  written  in  bad  English,  accompanj^- 
ing  a  packing  case  of  clothing,  in  which  there 
was  a  box  directed  to  Miss  Mary  Talbot. 

The  letter  signified  that  the  writer's  master 


THE  DAGGER  AND   THE  CROSS  309 

Signer  Giovanni  Ziletto,  had  advised  him  that 
in  case  of  delay  in  procuring  the  articles  for 
which  he  had  been  ordered  post-haste  to  town, 
he  should  send  them  direct  to   Signor  Vicars, 
who  would  deliver  unto  Signorina  Talbot  the 
box  therein  inclosed.     It  was  his  orders  that  in 
the  event  of  these  goods  not  being  sent  to  Eyam 
in  time  for  the  dressing  of  the  Wells,  it  might  be 
that  his  good  master,  Signor  Ziletto,  might  have 
left  Eyam,   as  it  was  his  intention  to  do  soon 
after  the  dressing  of  the  Wells,  and  in  that  case 
he  could  not  have  the  jjleasure  to  present  these 
mementos  himself  to  Signor  Vicars  and  Signor- 
ina Talbot ;  they  should,  therefore,  be  dispatched 
in  this  wise.     And  whereas  he  (Pedro  Bellini, 
the  signor's  devoted  servant),  having  been  sick 
by  the  way  and  meeting  with  other  delays,  the 
brocades  and  ribbons,  the  stomacher  and  gloves, 
desired   for    Signorina    Talbot,   had  been   most 
difficult    to    purchase,   whereby  the  goods  had 
been  dispatched  at  this  late  period ;  on  account 
of  which  he   had  deemed  this  explanation  and 
apology  fitting  to  the  unfortunate  occasion  of  so 
great   a    postponement,    and   which    he    hoped 
would  be  duly  accounted  in  the  signorina's  re- 
gard for  the  word  of  his  most  generous  master 
and  good  friend.     The  letter  was  written  in  a 
fair  and  flowing  hand,  and  signed  "Pedro  Bel- 
lini." 

Vicars  unpacked  the  costumes  with  an  avidity 
that  was  not  checked  by  recollection  of  the 
tragedy  with  which  thej^  were  associated.  It 
was  in  no  meroenary  spirit  that  he  gloated  over 


310  THE  DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS 

the  braided  jerkins,  the  silken  hose  and  breeches, 
the  lace  ruffles,  the  gorgeous  waistcoats  and  bro- 
caded baldricks  and  other  articles  of  superb  tail- 
oring, but  it  was  the  artist  within  him  that  was 
stirred ;  all  through  the  Hundred  there  was  not 
another  costumer  so  eminent  in  his  art  as  Vicars. 

He  was  a  widower,  and  had  for  lodgers  one 
James  Cooper,  a  miner,  and  his  wife ;  his  house 
hold  being  managed  by  a  servant  named  Ehza 
Booth,  who  had  nursed  his  wife  in  her  last  ill- 
ness. Cooper  was  enjoying  the  closing  festivi- 
ties of  the  Wake;  but  Mrs.  Cooper  and  Ehza 
Booth  responded  to  the  call  of  Vicars,  and  were 
intrusted  with  the  care  of  the  fine  bale  of  goods 
and  the  box  addressed  to  Miss  Talbot  until  his 
return.  He  was  going  to  the  Manor  House,  he 
said,  and  he  begged  that  they  would  keep  the 
shop  locked  until  his  return.  He  was  anxious 
that  no  one  should  see  the  wonderful  things  until 
he  could  arrange  them  in  order  and  exhibit  them, 
first  to  his  most  important  patrons.  Mrs.  Cooper 
found  some  of  the  clothes  rather  damp,  and  sug- 
gested that  Eliza  Booth  should  put  fresh  logs 
upon  the  fire  and  place  some  of  the  articles  upon 
a  clothes-horse  in  the  firelight,  to  which  Vicars 
made  no  objection,  as  he  made  haste  to  the 
Manor  House  to  show  Sir  George  the  letter  he 
had  received,  and  to  consult  him  touching  the 
box  that  was  addressed  to  his  daughter. 

"I'd  have  thee  destroy  the  box  and  its  con- 
tents, whatever  they  may  be,"  said  Sir  George. 
"This  letter  is  but  a  further  proof  of  the  man's 
infamy.    It  was,  thou  seest,   his  intention  to 


THE  DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS  311 

.eave  Eyara  immediately  after  the  "Well-dressing, 
My  daughter,  in  her  innocence,  would  no  doubt 
have  us  believe  that  she  would  have  accompanied 
him  to  his  home  in  Italy ;  but  between  you  and 
me,  Master  Vicars,  he  meant  to  abscond." 

"And  yet,"  said  Vicars,  "this  letter  goes  far 
to  relieve  his  man  of  the  suspicion  that  he  was 
the  knave  who  donned  the  priestly  robes  and 
assumed  the  character  of  Father  Castelli." 

"'Tis  so,  indeed;  for  in  that  event  he  would 
hardly  have  had  the  audacity  to  send  a  letter  to 
thee  and  give  an  address.  But  what  is  this? 
Here  is  an  atta.chment  to  the  rogue's  screed;" 
and  Sir  George  unfolded  what  seemed  like  a 
postscript,  but  written  in  another  hand  and  fast- 
ened within  the  folding  of  the  letter  (a  bulky 
document  fastened  with  a  ribbon  and  sealed  with 
a  heavy  seal)  which  Vicars  had  read  to  Sir 
George  and  then  handed  to  him. 

"Great  heavens!"  said  Sir  George,  perusing 
the  brief  note,  "the  man  is  dead!" 

"Dead!"  said  Vicars. 

"  'This  is  to  certify,'  "  continued  Sir  George, 
reading  the  document,  "  'that  he  who  hath  writ 
the  letter  of  advice  and  explanation  within  to 
Master  Jacob  Vicars,  of  Eyam,  in  the  county  of 
Derby,  namely,  Pedro  Bellini,  a  foreigner,  died 
of  the  prevailing  epidemic  on  the  29th  day  of 
June,  in  the  parish  of  Cripplegate;  and  we, 
being  his  agents  for  the  dispatch  of  the  said 
goodes  (having  examined  his  affaires,  to  the  best 
of  our  poore  opportunities),  have  forwarded  the 
same,  with  the  letter  aforenamed,  and  beg  to 


312  TIIR   DAGCER   AND   THE   CROSS 

endorse  the  deceased  Pedro  Bellini's  explanatioL 
of  delay;  and,  with  our  deep  regrets  and  con- 
dolences, beg  to  remain,  your  obedient  servantes, 
— John  Ha3^ward  Brothers  and  Company,  Easts 
Cheape. ' 

* 'Pedro  Bellini — half  Spanish,  half  Italian," 
said  Sir  George,  refolding  the  letter;  "and 
Signer  Roubillac  said  the  fellow  was  a  French- 
man!" 

"Poor  man!"  said  Vicars.  "Whatever  his 
nation,  he  soon  followed  his  master.  'Twas  a 
faithful  servant;  we  must  surely  acquit  him  of 
the  crime  of  vile  impersonation." 

"Perhaps,"  said  Sir  George,  as  if  not  thinking 
of  Vicars'  remark  or  his  own  reply.  "The  pre- 
vailing sickness;  that  means  the  plague.  Vicars. 
I  thought  the  scourge  had  come  to  an  end ;  the 
man  Ziletto  spoke  of  it  as  so  far  diminished  when 
he  arrived  in  E3^am,  I  recall,  that  he  said  the 
people  were  returning  to  their  homes  and  houses 
of  business,  and  furthermore,  that  the  court  was 
about  to  remove  from  Hampton  to  London. 
Lady  Stafford  and  the  Bradshaws  lived  abroad 
during  the  pestilence.  Pray  God  there  be  no 
contamination  in  thy  goods,  Vicars!" 

"Contamination!"  said  Vicars.  "They  be 
new,  fresh  from  the  loom  and  the  needle.  Con- 
tamination !  Nay,  Sir  George,  that  were  impos- 
sible ;  and  if  they  had  even  been  clothes  the  dead 
had  worn,  surely  such  a  journey,  by  road  and 
water,  would  purify  them." 

"Maybe,  maybe,"  said  Sir  George;  "but  I 
would  advise  thee  to  take  counsel  with  Mistress 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE    CROSS  313 

Dobbs,  and  subject  thy  treasures,  as  tbou  callest 
them,  to  such  dismfectiou  as  may  give  assurance 
of  their  sweetness.  There  are  such  unguents  and 
spices,  herbs  and  other  antidotes,  that,  being 
burned  and  the  smoke  thereof  penetrating  tapes- 
tries and  fabrics,  linens  and  clothes  of  all  idnds, 
will  destroy  any  lurking  poison  of  the  air  that 
might  be  contamination  if  neglected.  'Tis  a 
terrible  scourge,  the  plague.  Master  Vicars.  In 
the  bills  of  mortalit}-  that  same  parish  of  Cripple- 
gate  hath  been  seriously  aSicted. ' ' 

"But  these  goods  do  come  from  East  Cheap, 
Sir  George ;  and  as  I  have  said,  they  are  new ; 
they  shine  with  gilt  and  silver  braidings;  they 
are  silks  and  satins  richly  brocaded;  new,  Sir 
George;  never  been  worn;  fit  for  a  prince's 
fancj',  and  as  sweet  as  the  smell  of  a  hayfield." 

"When  Vicars  returned  to  his  house  and  un- 
locked his  little  shop,  his  servant  and  Mrs. 
Cooper  told  him  that  two  of  the  jerkins  were  as 
damp  as  the  new-mown  grass.  They  heaped  up 
the  logs  on  a  brisk  fire,  and  Vicars  burned  brim- 
stone and  some  curious  essences  that  Mrs.  Dobbs 
had  given  him,  though  he  was  actuated  more  by 
a  desire  to  dry  the  clothing  than  to  purify  it,  so 
completely  did  he  set  aside  what  he  regarded  as 
Sir  George's  old-womanish  notions  of  the  pos- 
sible need  of  purification. 

Yet,  even  as  he  swung  the  kind  of  censer  Mrs. 
Dobbs  had  given  him  for  distributing  about  the 
room  the  vapor  of  her  decoction  of  herbs,  he  was 
seized  with  a  sudden  sickness,  as  also  was  Eliza 
Booth;    and  before  the  night  was    over  Mrs. 


314      THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

Cooper  had  also  been  carried  to  bed.  There  was 
no  regular  practitioner  of  medicine  in  Eyam. 
The  barber  was  an  adept  at  blood-letting.  There 
was  many  local  remedies  for  the  various  ills  of 
the  parish,  and  the  rector  and  his  wife  were  gen- 
erally looked  to  for  material  and  medical  assist- 
ance. There  was  the  customary  bone-setter,  too; 
and  from  time  immemorial  the  village  had  not 
appeared  to  need  any  other  assistance,  except 
the  midwife,  who  brought  them  into  the  world, 
and  the  grave-digger,  who  put  them  into  their 
everlasting  beds.  The  ''quality"  of  the  district 
occasionally  obtained  advice  from  the  faculty  in 
the  nearest  large  town,  and  the  ducal  and  lordly 
owners  of  the  palaces  of  the  Peak  mostly  kept  a 
doctor  among  their  retainers.  The  only  resource 
of  Vicars  and  his  fellow  sufferers  lay  in  the 
remedies  of  Mrs.  Mompesson,  the  prayers  of  her 
husband,  and  the  varied  advice  of  the  village  at 
large ;  but  within  three  days  there  appeared  upon 
the  breast  of  their  first  patient  a  round  purple 
mark,  and  he  died.  He  was  scarcely  buried 
when  the  fatal  sign  appeared  upon  the  person  of 
Eliza  Booth.  She  died  the  same  daj^;  followed, 
almost  immediately,  by  the  death  of  Mrs.  Cooper. 
All  unconscious  of  any  evil  against  the  village, 
his  selfish  passion  only  contemplating  the  fall  of 
Mary  Talbot,  Giovanni  Ziletto  even  in  the  grave 
had  smitten  Eyam  with  death  in  its  most  hateful 
form.  The  virus  had  come  from  London  in  his 
lavish  gifts  of  finery,  and  his  messenger  had 
started  it  on  its  way  with  his  dying  hands.  It 
was  the  plague. 


THE   DAGGER  AND   THE  CROSS  315 


CHAPTER   THIRTY-EIGHT 

A   GRIM    FIRESIDE 

One  night,  when  a  whispering  group  of  vil- 
lagers were  sitting  before  the  fire  in  the  house- 
place  of  the  Crown  and  Anchor,  trying  by  com- 
panionship to  give  each  other  courage,  there 
suddenly  appeared  in  their  midst  the  form  and 
figure  of  Reuben  Clegg.  It  was  as  if  he  had 
come  through  the  wall.  No  one  had  heard  him 
come  through  the  door,  no  one  had  seen  him  en- 
ter the  room.  They  were  too  much  engaged 
when  he  lifted  the  latch  to  take  note  of  anything 
beyond  their  own  fears.  Their  ranks  were  being 
gradually'  thinned  by  an  enemy  there  was  no 
grappling  with. 

The  rector  had  failed  to  persuade  his  wife  to 
seek  shelter  among  friends  beyond  the  grim  pale 
of  infection.  She  was  delicate,  and  the  least  at- 
tack might  easily  break  her  down.  She  would 
not  leave  her  husband ;  but  submitted  to  the  chil- 
dren being  sent  away  to  friends  in  Yorkshire. 
Mompesson  himself  worked  from  morning  till 
night,  day  by  day,  among  the  sick.  He  was 
seconded  by  his  colleague,  the  inhibited  Stanley. 
They  gave  the  people  both  medicinal  and  spirit- 
ual relief.  Sir  George  Talbot  was  foremost  in 
providing  necessaries  for  all  whom  he  had  time 
to  visit.     Mary  Talbot  went  about  with  the  bur- 


816  THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

den  of  matornily.  Vicars  and  tlie  chief  carpen- 
ter of  the  village  were  both  dead.  The  constable 
had  lost  his  danghter.  Mrs.  Clegg  seemed  to 
hve  a  charmed  life,  facing  every  danger  with  the 
faith  of  pure  rehgion  and  the  patience  of  a  saint. 
God  had  saved  her  son,  though  she  had  never 
seen  him  since  the  day  when  the  law  condemned 
him  to  a  cruel  death,  and  He  would  preserve  her 
as  long  as  He  had  work  for  her  to  do. 

It  was  late  in  November.  The  trees  were  bare. 
A  few  ragged  rooks  were  calling  to  each  other  in 
protest  against  the  rain.  Mompesson  had  prayed 
for  the  purifying,  driving  wind  of  heaven.  In- 
stead, there  hung  over  the  doomed  village  a  pall- 
like cloud.  Reuben  Clegg,  gaunt  of  limb,  with 
eyes  sunk  deep  and  beard  unkempt,  had  made 
his  way  from  his  last  hiding-place  conscious  of 
some  disaster  happening  to  those  he  loved,  though 
ignorant  of  the  nature  of  the  trouble.  It  might 
well  be  that  he  would  have  no  news  of  it,  hving, 
as  he  had  done,  from  hand  to  mouth,  avoiding 
towns  and  villages  except  at  night  time.  Con- 
tinually in  expectation  of  arrest  he  was  deter- 
mined never  to  be  taken  alive.  Outcast  of  God 
and  man,  in  revolt  against  his  Maker,  defiant  of 
heaven  and  earth,  a  victim,  as  he  felt,  of  both, 
there  was  still  the  love  of  a  son  burning  in  his 
heart  for  that  dear  gray  little  woman  in  her  cot- 
tage above  the  glen  where  that  mysterious  hand 
had  reached  out  of  the  darkness  to  slay  Ziletto. 
He  also  continued  to  nurture  an  undying  affec- 
tion for  the  woman  who  had  chosen  the  man  that 
betrayed   her  rather  than  himself,   who  would 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE    CROSS  317 

have  been  her  willing  slave  and  /aid  down  his 
life  freely  to  save  her  an  aching  finger. 

They  were  counting  up  the  dead,  this  little 
group  of  men  sitting  over  the  November  fire, 
and  it  was  one  Marshall  Howe  who  named  them, 
for  he  had  buried  most  of  them,  the  regular  grave- 
digger  having  succumbed  to  the  disease;  and 
they  shuddered  as  he  enumerated  them :  Jacob 
Vicars,  Edward  Cooper,  Thomas  Thorpe,  Sarah 
Sydall,  Mary  Thorpe,  Matthew  Bands,  EHzabeth 
Thorpe,  Margaret  Bands,  Mary  Thorpe,  Margaret 
Bands,  Elizabeth  Thorpe,  Richard  Sydall,  Wil- 
liam Torre,  Sythe  Torre,  Alice  Torre,  William 
Torre,  John  Sydall,  Ellen  Sydall,  Mai-tha  Bands, 
Jonathan  Ragge,  Thomas  Thorpe,  Alice  Sydall, 
John  Stubbs,  Hugh  Stubbs,  Ann  Stubbs,  Jona- 
than Cooper,  Humphrey  Hawksworth,  and  so 
on,  the  pathos  of  the  list  Ijnng  in  the  repetition 
of  names,  that  indicated  the  sweeping  away  of 
entire  families. 

"Fill  your  glasses,  men,"  said  Marshall  Howe, 
folding  up  his  list  of  the  dead;  "  'tis  being  down- 
hearted makes  you  sweat  with  fear;  'tis  best  to 
sweat  with  drink.  Come,  Radford,  hi  there! 
'Tis  my  turn.  Let  us  have  another  gallon  of 
thy  posset,  man,  and  cheer  thee!" 

With  all  his  well-acted  geniality,  Marshall 
Howe  was  hardly  the  man  to  cheer  the  com- 
pany. He  smelled  of  death.  It  might  well  have 
seemed  that  he  carried  the  plague  about  in  his 
clothes,  for  he  buried  folk  straightaway  in  their 
own,  himself  acting  as  undertaker  and  sexton. 
It  was  thought  that  a  man  recovering  from  an 


318  THE   DAGGER  AND  THE   CROSS 

attack  of  the  opicloniic  had  immunity  from  further 
danger.  Marshall  Howe  had  fought  the  enemy 
niid  conquered,  and  he  feared  it  no  more. 

"Get  thee  about  thy  business,  Marshall,"  said 
Radford;  "we  do  not  like  thy  office;  take  thy 
whack  of  drink,  and  get  thee  gone.  Thou  art 
too  noisy  for  us ;  and  'tis  like  blood -money,  the 
fees  thou  art  taking,  to  say  nowt  about  the  clothes 
and  goods  of  what  thou  calles^  thy  clients." 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!"  shouted  Marshall,  a  giant  of 
a  man,  with  great  hands  and  a  broad  dumpy 
face,  thick  heavy  lips  and  limbs  like  unto  a  de- 
formed Hercules.  "Come  on,  then.  Gi'e  me 
my  mug,  and  fill  it  to  the  brim ;  as  hot  as  blazes !" 

And  every  man  thought  he  alone  saw  Reuben 
Clegg  standing  by  all  the  time,  for  they  reck- 
oned he  was  a  ghost ;  but  when  Marshall  Howe 
had  scorched  his  capacious  throat  with  the  burn- 
ing liquor  and  had  passed  out  into  the  muggy 
night,  Reuben  said : 

"Neighbors,  old  friends,  give  me  a  drink — not 
out  of  his  mug — I  am  starving;  and  tell  me  what 
has  happened  in  the  village." 

It  was  Longstaffe  who  rose  up  and  took  the 
speaker's  hand,  but  Radford  who  spoke,  saying, 
"Dammit,  Reuben  lad,  I'm  blamed  if  I  didna' 
think  it  was  thy  ghost!  Welcome,  lad,  wel- 
come!" And  he  filled  him  a  mug  of  ale  posset, 
with  a  dried  apple  on  the  top,  and  called  to  his 
wife  to  bring  the  chine  of  beef  and  put  it  on  the 
table ;  for  Radford,  from  the  first,  had  argued 
that  the  best  antidote  to  the  plague  was  beef  and 
beer;  and  when  Mrs.  Radford  entered  the  room, 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  319 

she  too  shook  hands  with  Clegg,  and  said  he  had 
come  to  the  City  of  Destruction,  but  Hfe  was  a 
poor  business  at  best,  and  'twould  be  better  to 
die  among  friends  than  perish  of  hunger  flying 
from  an  unjust  law. 

"Amen!  Amen!"  said  the  half  dozen  vil- 
lagers, in  the  loudest  tones  they  had  spoken 
for  days,  "Amen!" 

"Thank  j'ou,  Mrs.  Radford,"  said  Reuben, 
sitting  down  to  his  meat  and  eating  ravenously. 
When  he  had  somewhat  appeased  his  appetite, 
he  asked  again  what  had  come  over  the  village. 

They  answered  that  it  was  the  plague ;  and 
they  spoke  it  as  if  it  was  a  cry,  and  the  very 
walls  seemed  to  echo  it.  "The  plague!  the 
plague!" 

Reuben  shuddered,  for  he  had  read  of  the 
scourge  in  his  books  of  Eastern  travel,  and  he 
knew  that  there  was  no  fighting  this  enemy  with 
swords  and  pistols,  nor  combating  it  with  prayer ; 
for  the  latter  remedy  had  ever  been  tried  unavail- 
ingly — at  least,  so  he  reckoned. 

"The  plague!"  he  said,  his  face  blanching  in 
spite  of  the  warmth  of  his  beaker  of  hot  ale. 
"The  plague!  And  was  it  a  list  of  the  dead 
that  yonder  giant,  who  has  just  left,  was  count- 
ing up?" 

"Ay,  more's  the  pity,"  said  Radford. 

"And  my  mother?" 

"Thy  mother,"  said  Mrs.  Radford,  "is  God's 
angel;  she  walks  in  the  pestilence  unscathed." 

"The  dear  old  soul!"  he  exclaimed.  "And 
the  widow  Ziletto— Sir  George's  daughter?" 


320      THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

"Turn  thy  steps  toward  the  Manor  House,  and 
thou  shalt  hear  her  bairn  cry  and  moan  that  'tis 
born  into  such  a  pitiful  world,"  said  Mrs.  Rad- 
ford.    "  'Tis  a  day  old,  come  eight  o'  the  clock." 

Reuben  did  not  reply  to  this,  bat  asked  for  to- 
bacco and  sat  him  down  with  the  rest,  and  said 
never  a  word  until  Longstaffe  rose  to  say  good- 
night; and  even  then  not  a  man  ventured  to  ask 
Clegg  how  he  had  come  there,  and  if  he  wore  not 
afeared  of  thus  exposing  himself  to  discovery, 
when  in  walked  one  of  the  most  dejected  figures  to 
be  seen  in  all  the  village,  Constable  Dakin. 

Mrs.  Radford  had  lighted  no  candles,  and  the 
villagers  preferred  to  sit  in  the  ingle-nook,  lighted 
only  by  the  burning  logs.  It  was  a  rare  thing  in 
the  cottages  to  have  any  other  light,  except  for 
the  reading  of  a  chapter  in  the  Bible  last  thing. 

"I've  come  to  say  good-by,  neighbors,"  said 
the  constable,  in  a  sepulchral  voice. 

"Nay,  you'n  said  that  too  often,  Dakin;  we'n 
tired  of  it." 

"It's  the  last  time,  friend  Longstaffe.  I'm 
mortal  sick  this  night,  I  tell  thee — mortal  sick; 
took  as  my  daughter  was. — God  rest  her! — I 
sliall  be  a  subject  for  Marshall  Howe  i'  the  morn- 
ing, mek  no  doubt  of  it;  and  so  I  come  to  say 
Good-night. ' '  Then  there  rose  up  in  the  firelight 
the  gaunt  figure  of  Reuben  Clegg.  The  men  in 
the  ingle-nook  made  way  for  him,  that  he  might 
face  his  enemy,  and  the  constable  stepped  back  a 
pace  or  two,  not  knowing  what  manner  of  man 
this  might  be  who  seemed  to  rise  out  of  the  shadow 
and  dominate  the  room. 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  321 

"Thou  wert  always  a  liar,  Humphrey  Dakin, 
but  this  time,  it  may  be,  thou  speakest  the  truth 
—so  Good-night  to  thee  and  Good-by.  Trust  me, 
I  will  lend  a  hand  at  thy  burial!" 

' '  Reuben  Clegg ! ' '  gasped  Dakin,  clutching  the 
arm  of  the  settle,  where  the  other  men  had  risen 
from  their  seats.  "I've  dreamt  o'  thee  ivvery 
night  since  they  took  thee  out  to  hang  thee.  Is 
it  thee,  i'  the  lieshV" 

"Ay,  I'm  Reuben  Clegg,  thin  and  spare  enough 
to  be  Reuben  Clegg's  shadow;  but  I'm  the  man 
thou  lied  almost  into  his  grave,  thou  blister  of 
humanit}',  thou — " 

"Nay,"  said  the  constable,  feebly  stretching 
out  a  protesting  hand,  "nay,  donnat  curse  me. 
Let  me  a-be.  I  shanna'  trouble  thee  long,  and, 
warrant  or  no  warrant,  I  lay  no  more  hands  on 
thee.  It  was  my  hatred  o'  thee,  fear  likewise, 
that  made  me  want  thee  out  o'  the  road.  Canst 
forgive  me?" 

"Forgive  thee!  No,  not  if  it  would  ease  thee 
o'  the  torments  of  the  hell  thou  believ'st  in,  wi' 
all  its  burning  brimstone,  thou  perjured  villain! 
Get  thee  forth,  and  die!" 

The  constable  fell  prone  before  his  enemy,  as 
if  he  had  been  struck  a  murderous  blow.  Sev- 
eral hands  went  to  his  assistance,  and  lifted  him 
into  the  corner  seat  of  the  settle,  and  Longstaffe 
rebuked  Clegg  roundly. 

"  'Twas  thy  overbearing  temper  and  thy  pride 
that  was  thj^  ruin,  Reuben  Clegg.  It  was  fairly 
said  on  the  part  o'  the  constable ;  he  as  good  as 
confessed  his  wrong  to  thee,  and  asked  thy  for- 


322  THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS 

giveness  humbly — 'twas  only  a  Christian  thing 
to  have  said  him  nay  civill}-,  without  curses  and 
words  bitter  as  gall  and  murderous  as  a  knife. 
Tliink  bettor  of  it,  Reuben." 

"You  talk  of  civility  that  have  never  felt  the 
rack;  you  talk  of  forgiveness  that  have  never 
felt  the  sting  of  the  brand  of  Cain,  conscious  all 
the  time  of  j^our  own  innocence.  Think  that 
over.  Master  Longstaffe ;  there  is  a  lesson  in  it. 
I  bear  thee  no  malice,  lad,  nor  Radford,  nor  any 
of  you:  I've  often  remembered  j^ou  kindly;  but 
none  of  you  have  suffered  as  I  have."  And  he 
strode  forth  to  the  door,  and  no  one  stayed  him. 

As  he  lifted  the  latch  he  turned,  and,  direct- 
ing his  voice  to  the  corner  where  Dakin  was  re- 
viving from  the  shock  of  his  attack,  he  said : 

"Good-night,  owd  'Wait  a  bit';  donnat  wait 
any  longer;  keep  thy  word  for  once. — Good- 
night, Judas!" 

CHAPTER    THIRTY-NINE 
"a  tale  of  sorrows  indescribable" 

And  the  next  day  the  constable  gave  up  the 
ghost,  and  was  buried  in  his  clothes.  There  was 
no  longer  any  man  to  make  coffins. 

Reuben  Clegg  went  home  to  his  mother,  and 
no  one  attempted  to  take  him ;  neither  did  any 
one  think  of  giving  him  up.  It  was  known 
through  the  Hundred,  and  beyond,  that  Eyam 
was  smitten  with  the  plague,  and  it  might  well 
be  considered  a  place  where  the  king's  warrant? 


THE  i)AGGER  AND   THE   CROSS  323 

no  longer  ran.  Moreover,  Sir  George  held  out 
hopes  of  pardon  to  him.  The  petition  in  his  favor 
was  signed  by  the  best  men  and  women  in  the 
county,  and  the  confession  of  the  constable,  as 
reported  by  Longstaffe  and  Radford  and  sworn 
to  already,  would  go  far  to  influence  the  king's 
advisers. 

Before  the  end  of  the  month  of  November, 
Mary  Talbot,  otherwise  Signora  Ziletto,  was  seen 
sitting  at  the  Manor  House  window,  with  her 
baby  on  her  knee,  like  a  picture,  some  said,  of 
the  Madonna  and  Child;  and  she  said  she  was 
glad  that  Eeuben  Clegg  had  given  himself  up 
to  nursing  the  sick  and  burying  the  dead. 

It  was  wonderful  how  persistently  Clegg 
worked.  He  never  seemed  to  take  an  hour's 
rest.  Mr.  Stanley,  at  first,  was  inclined  to  re- 
pudiate his  co-operation;  and  Mr.  Mompesson 
felt  it  incumbent  upon  him  to  warn  Clegg  not 
to  influence  the  religious  faith  of  the  sufferers 
with  whom  he  came  in  contact. 

"I'll  not  interfere  with  their  hopes  of  a  future 
life,  rector,"  said  Clegg,  "nor  sa}^  aught  against 
prayer ;  but  what  think  you,  yourself,  about  the 
eflBcac}'  of  prayer?  You've  done  enough  in  that 
way  to  save  the  whole  parish,  every  man  jack ; 
but  the  purple  sign  of  death  comes  out  upon  their 
poor  flesh  all  the  same :  they  die,  and  are  buried. ' ' 

"I  cannot  argue  with  you,  Clegg;  'tis  impi- 
ous," said  Mompesson;  but  the  rector  redoubled 
his  exertions  for  the  physical  welfare  of  his  peo- 
ple, and  Clegg,  by  his  energy  and  his  cheerful 
encouragement,   snatched  many  a  victim  from 


324      THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

thf^  grave,  and  comforted  many  another  witii  liis 
possets,  his  hot  spices,  and  his  pleasant  words. 
No  one  thought  of  him  for  a  moment  as  an 
escaped  felon.  His  mother  saw  in  his  escape 
the  Divine  interposition,  and  tried  to  bring  Reu- 
ben to  this  way  of  thinking.  He  would  listen 
to  her  patiently,  nor  reply  when  she  asked  him 
who  but  God  had  saved  her  in  the  midst  of  the 
pestilence  to  welcome  him  back  to  their  cottage, 
who  but  God  had  brought  him  through  the  in- 
famous bars  that  had  holden  him,  who  but  God 
had  protected  him  in  the  wilderness  and  brought 
him  home? 

Onl}^  once  had  Reuben  ventured  to  ask  who 
had  allow-ed  him  to  be  falsely  accused,  who  had 
permitted  his  good  name  to  be  sullied,  who  had 
suffered  his  life  to  be  blighted,  and  given  the 
lamb  a  prey  to  the  wolf?  His  mother  had  re- 
plied with  texts,  and  wise  sayings  regarding 
God's  righteous  punishments  and  the  mystery 
of  His  divine  ways.  And  Reuben  marveled 
at  his  mother's  happiness  and  her  exemption 
from  the  infection  of  the  plague;  for  she  went 
among  the  people  with  never  an  ache  or  fear, 
untiring,  closing  the  eyes  of  the  dying  with 
such  cheerful  promises  of  a  heavenly  paradise 
beyond  the  grave  that  robbed  Death  of  half 
his  terrors,  and  lighted  for  many  a  heart  a  lamp 
of  Hope  that  showed  them  the  sunny  stairway 
to  the  white  streets  of  the  New  Jerusalem. 

With  winter,  the  villagers  hoped  the  pestilence 
would  cease.  It  had  been  so,  hitherto,  in  the 
history  of  the  plague  in  other  lands;  but  Eyam 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  325 

was  doomed.  The  grim  Angel  of  Death  never 
stayed  his  hand.  On  Christmas  Day,  the  Winds 
were  pulled  down  at  the  Manor  House.  Reuben 
Clegg's  heart  stopped  beating  for  a  moment,  as 
he  walked  up  to  the  familiar  door  and  asked  for 
Mrs.  Dobbs.  Death  had  been  there;  but  not  in 
the  shape  of  the  plague.  Signora  Ziletto's  baby 
had  died  in  the  night.  The  mother  was  bearing 
her  trouble  bravely,  Mrs.  Dobbs  said.  They  had 
never  expected  to  rear  the  child,  and  't^vas  to 
her  thinking  a  happy  release.  Reuben  turned 
away,  and  bent  his  steps  to  the  rectory,  where 
he  found  Mrs.  Mompesson  busy  in  her  husband's 
study,  which  was  now  something  like  an  apothe- 
cary's shop.  She  was  mixing  decoctions  that 
had  been  found  of  service,  though  she  looked  far 
more  in  need  of  physic  and  broth  than  any  of 
the  pining  villagers. 

Mompesson  and  Stanley  gave  themselves  no 
rest ;  they  worked  together  like  brothers,  pray- 
ing with  the  dying,  reading  the  last  words  of  the 
Prayer  Book  over  the  dead,  and  encouraging  the 
living.  If  Mompesson  could  only  have  induced 
his  wife  to  join  the  children,  at  their  friend's  in 
Yorkshire,  his  heart  would  have  been  lightened ; 
but  she  would  not  leave  him. 

With  the  New  Year,  the  rector's  wife  had  a 
companion  in  her  labors.  Mary  Talbot,  other- 
wise Signora  Ziletto,  freed  from  the  nursing  of 
her  child,  flung  herself  into  the  work  of  tending 
the  sick  and  administering  to  the  dying.  Neither 
her  mental  nor  her  physical  suffering  had  im- 
paired her  beauty.     The  robust  figure,  the  rosy 


326  THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS 

coiuplexiuii ,  the  elastic  step,  were  no  longer 
there;  but  m  their  place  a  refinement  of  form, 
a  tender  grace  of  manner,  a  delicate  pallor  that 
gave  an  almost  ascetic  character  to  her  beauty, 
such  as  painters  strive  to  achieve  in  their  pict- 
ures of  angelic  figures  and  virgins  that  have 
become  angels  of  God. 

As  the  spring  began  to  pass  into  summer,  the 
plague  became  general  througiiout  the  village. 
It  raged.  There  was  death  in  every  breath  of 
air.  The  birds  sang,  the  flowers  bloomed,  the 
blossom  appeared  on  the  trees,  the  hay-fields 
grew  ready  for  the  reaper,  but  the  only  mower 
was  Death,  and  he  cut  down  the  living  with  a 
steady  sweep  of  his  scythe.  All  business  else  was 
stopped.  Nobody  worked.  The  cows  remained 
uumilked,  the  sheep  unshepherded ;  the  Winship 
Mine  was  closed,  the  looms  ceased  to  make  music 
in  the  cottages,  the  dead  were  buried  ere  the 
stricken  limbs  were  cold.  Graves  were  dug  any- 
where. In  a  house,  a  little  way  beyond  the  vil- 
lage, one  solitary  woman  had,  herself,  buried 
every  member  of  her  family  with  her  own  hands; 
while  a  neighbor  had  made  his  own  grave,  and, 
strewing  the  bed  of  it  with  straw,  had  lain  him 
down  and  died  in  it. 

It  was  the  last  day  of  May,  and  out  of  a  popu- 
lation of  three  hundred  and  fifty  souls  seventy- 
seven  had  perished.  Of  these  were  whole  fami- 
lies, and  scarce  a  soul  that  had  not  been  visited 
by  Clegg,  though  such  was  the  terrible  nature  of 
the  disease  that  in  the  last  moments  it  was  too 
loathsome  for  even  children  to  tolerate  their  par- 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  327 

ents,  or  for  parents  to  embrace  their  dying  inno- 
cents.    June   found  the  village  in  the  highest 
state  of  panic,  the  living,  as  if  bj^  a  general  im- 
pulse, resolving  to  fly  from  the  place.     It  was  at 
this  juncture  that  the  heroism  of  Mompesson  and 
Stanley  fired  the  fainting  hearts  of  their  flocks. 
At  a  special  service  of  the  Church,  in  which  the 
two  ministers  called  the  whole  village  together, 
of  every  creed  and  opinion,  the  rector  remon- 
strated with  the  people  against  the  idea  of  flight. 
Already  many  of  them  were  infected,  if  not  in 
their  persons,  in  their  clothes;   moreover,  they 
owed  a  duty  to  their  fellow-creatures  beyond  the 
borders  of  the  village.     To  carry  the  disease  out 
into  the  world  at  large  would  be  a  crime.     If 
they  were  to  die,  let  them  stand  by  each  other 
and  die  together ;   not  poison  the  breath  of  the 
healthful  and  the  happy,  who  would  fall  curs 
ing  them  as  the  authors  of  their  misery.     Should 
they  consent  to  remain  with  him  and  his  brother 
Stanle}^,  his  wife  and  Sir  George  Talbot  and  his 
daughter,  and  the  rest  of  their  hopeful  and  God- 
fearing neighbors,   he  would  ask  the  Duke  of 
Devonshire  and  other  residents  beyond  the  vil- 
lage, to  send  them  relief  of  food  and  raiment,  of 
medicines  and  everj^  possible  physical  aid;   and 
he  was  assured  of  the  result  of  his  appeal.     They 
would  thereupon  draw  a  cordon  around  the  vil- 
lage, and  there  should  be  sentinels  at  fixed  and 
convenient  points,  so  that  no  one  should  pass  out 
or  in;  and  tliere  should  be  selected  spots  where 
all  that  was  needful  should  be  passed  within  the 
cordon,  and  sanitary  methods  formed  for  disburs- 


328      THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

ing  such  money  as  might  be  needed  for  payment. 
Thej^  would  tlius  save  the  other  villages  of  the 
Hundred,  nnd  the  great  world  beyond,  from  in- 
fection, and  snatch  from  premature  death  thou- 
sands of  their  fellow-countrymen.  And  their 
reward  should  be  great  on  earth,  as  in  heaven. 
Their  names  should  go  down  to  posterity  on  an 
everlasting  scroll  of  fame,  and  when  their  time 
should  come,  their  souls,  ascending  to  heaven, 
should  be  welcomed  with  angelic  songs,  and 
Christ,  sitting  on  the  right  hand  of  the  Father, 
should  say  unto  each  man  and  woman,  and  every 
child,  "Well  done,  thou  good  and  faithful  ser- 
vant; enter  thou  into  the  kingdom  of  God," 

And  all  the  people  said,  "Amen!"  and  many 
fell  into  each  others'  arms  and  wept. 


CHAPTER   FORTY 

"if   HE   SLAY   ME,    YET  WILL  I   TRUST   HIM" 

The  first  time  Reuben  Clegg  met  Mary  Talbot 
face  to  face  after  his  return  was  at  the  height  of 
the  terror  that  was  devastating  the  village.  It 
was  in  the  twilight  of  a  lovely  June  evening. 
Clegg  had  walked  from  his  mother's  cottage,  on 
his  way  to  visit  Radford  and  his  wife,  both  of 
whom  v/ere  sick.  The  long  village  street  was 
still  as  the  grave.  Not  a  door  was  open.  The 
roadway  was  green  with  weeds  and  grasses. 
Wild  flowers  decorated  the  footpaths  by  the 
roadside  hedge  and  the  walled-in  gardens.     It 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE   CROSS  329 

might  have  been  a  village  of  the  dead.  If  on 
any  day  the  people  were  stirring,  they  moved 
about  like  ghosts,  or  they  were  bringing  out  their 
dead.  No  grim  signs  of  black  flags  or  outward 
marks  on  door-posts  signaled  the  infected  houses. 
It  was  as  if  the  entire  street  was  sicklied  o'er  with 
some  fatal  legend  of  death.  On  this  summer 
evening  not  a  soul  was  abroad.  Nor  was  there, 
anywhere,  the  cheerful  or  solemn  augury  of  a 
light  in  any  window. 

Away  on  the  side  of  the  distant  hill,  where  the 
Old  Hall  had  been  wont  to  show  its  illuminated 
windows,  only  the  shadowy  outlines  of  the  place 
could  be  seen.  The  Staff ord-Bradshaws  had  left 
the  village  in  the  very  first  week  of  the  distemper. 
They  and  their  friends,  and  their  servants,  and 
the  stranger  within  their  gates,  had  fled  before 
the  pestilence,  never  to  return;  and  while  the 
humble  cottage  of  Vicars,  where  they  unpacked 
Ziletto's  fatal  gift,  still  stands,  to  bear  historic 
witness  of  the  truth  of  the  Martyrdom  of  Eyam, 
with  other  relics  that  need  no  monuments  to  keep 
the  story  living,  the  Old  Hall  is  a  heap  of  ruin 
and  forgetfulness. 

The  village  forge  no  longer  blazed  upon  the 
hillock,  and  even  the  birds  were  silent.  Noth- 
ing lived,  as  it  seemed  to  Clegg,  by  any  token 
that  appeared,  except  a  few  weird  bats  that 
mocked  the  flight  of  the  absent  swallows;  for 
those  guests  of  summer  had,  strange  to  say,  de- 
serted their  favorite  haunts  in  the  village,  as  if 
the  air  no  longer  commended  itself,  nor  "smelled 
wooingly,"  as  it  was  accustomed,  where  Banquo 


330      THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

noted  its  characteristics  to  Duncan  as  they  en- 
tered Macbeth's  castle.  There  was  not  a  single 
sign  of  health  or  mirth,  or  even  peace,  for  the 
very  silence  was  threatening.  If  a  whisper 
stirred,  it  might  have  been  the  passing  of  some 
immortal  soul  to  its  long  account.  And  when 
Clegg  observed  a  figure  coming  toward  him  from 
the  direction  of  the  rectory,  he  was  conscious  of 
a  strange  sense  of  amazement.  It  was  a  hooded 
figure,  and  it  came  down  the  road  as  if  it  glided 
over  the  grass,  and  brushed  the  wayside  flowers 
with  its  trailing  garments.  Coming  to  where 
Clegg  had  paused,  it  pushed  back  its  hood,  and 
lo,  it  was  Mary  Talbot!  She  crossed  his  path 
where  the  village  street  branches  off  to  the  glen 
whence  he  had  carried  her  home  on  that  fatal 
night  by  My  Lady's  Bower. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you  again,  Master  Clegg,'' 
she  said,  putting  out  her  hand,  "if  one  may  say 
one  is  glad  at  anything  in  these  untoward  days." 

He  took  her  hand  with  a  trembling  grasp,  and 
held  it  for  a  little  while,  as  he  answered  with 
suppressed  emotion. 

"Thank  you,  madam." 

He  would  have  said  Madam  Ziletto,  but  the 
name  of  the  dead  man  stuck  in  his  throat;  and 
despite  the  deadly  atmosphere  of  the  village  and 
all  its  woes,  his  heart  beat  fast  with  the  emotion 
of  the  bygone  days  when  his  love  for  the  woman 
was  beyond  words. 

"You  have  often  been  in  my  thoughts,  and  it 
nigh  broke  my  heart  when  they  condemned  3''ou. 
God  and  I  knew  that  j'ou  were  innocent." 


THE  DAGGER  ANT)   THE   CROSS  331 

"Thank  jou,  Miss  Talbot,"  he  said,  for  the  old 
days  came  back  to  him, before  the  shadow  of  Zilet- 
to  fell  upon  Eyam.    ' '  I  hope  your  father  is  well. ' ' 

It  was  a  very  commonplace  remark,  but  he 
thought  of  nothing  else  to  say. 

"Yes;  he  does  not  complain.  He  would  like 
to  see  you  at  the  Manor  House;  will  you  not 
come,  dear  friend?" 

"Nay;  I  fear  it  would  be  wrong  to  enter  a 
non-infected  house." 

"We  believe  in  the  Divine  Mercy,  and  that, 
for  some  wise  purpose,  God  has  made  a  sign 
upon  the  lintel  of  our  doorway;  perad venture, 
that  we  are  chosen  to  be  useful  to  the  stricken, 
we  seem  to  have  been  miraculously  spared." 

"I  will  come,"  said  Reuben;  "it  will  be  a 
comfort  to  meet  folk  who  do  not  think  me  a 
murderer." 

"It  will  help  my  father,  and  give  us  all  fresh 
courage,  to  see  you  once  more  beneath  our  roof," 
she  answered. 

He  made  no  reply,  but  only  looked  at  her 
wonderingly  and  tried  to  keep  back  his  tears, 
the  first  he  had  shed  so  long  as  he  could  remem- 
ber. And  she  passed  on  her  way,  leaving  him 
standing  in  the  road. 

They  met  again  on  the  next  day,  at  the  rec- 
tor}-,  in  consultation  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mom- 
pesson,  Mr.  Stanley,  and  Sir  George  Talbot; 
Mary  Talbot,  not  the  least  self-possessed  of  any 
of  them,  accepting  the  humblest  and  most  trying 
work  tliat  could  bo  allotted  to  her.  Sir  George 
permitting  her  to  vun  any  and  evexy  risk  that 


332  THE   DAGGER   /NO    THE    CROSS 

she  courted.  Inspired  by  the  example  and  pre 
cepts  of  iVIompesson,  Sir  George  had  no  fear. 
He  opposed  the  plague  with  the  avvord  of  dutj^ 
He  felt  that  he  was  the  chief  of  the  village,  and 
that  no  harm  could  come  to  the  captain,  anj^ 
more  than  Mompessou  or  Stanley  could  be  smit- 
ten while  they  were  engaged  in  the  absolutely 
necessary  work  of  their  profession.  He  surprised 
Clegg  with  his  faith,  and  Mary  Talbot  awed 
him  with  her  strange  angelic  beauty. 

The  "cordon  sanitaire"  had  been  religiously 
maintained.  At  the  place  where  in  ancient  days 
there  had  been  an  outer  gate  of  the  village,  men 
and  women  took  their  turn  to  stand  sentry  ovei 
the  valley;  and  food  was  brought  to  certain 
points  of  the  imaginary  wall,  that  had  for  land- 
marks certain  crags  and  rocks  and  water-ways. 

It  was  now  resolved  to  close  the  church  and 
hold  the  services  in  the  open  air.  Reuben  Clegg 
commended  this  precaution;  however  much  they 
prayed,  whatever  their  faith,  it  was  well  to  avoid 
bringing  the  people  together  in  a  confined  atmos- 
phere. Both  Mr.  Mompesson  and  Mr.  Stanley 
noted  without  comment  the  overt  cynicism  of 
Clegg's  remark;  but  Mary  Talbot  looked  at  him 
with  beseeching  eyes,  and  when  he  went  home 
that  day  he  talked  a  long  while  with  his  mother 
about  her  faith.  She  told  him  the  story  of 
Peter's  imprisonment  and  release,  and  how, 
when  he  appeared  at  the  house  of  Mary,  the 
mother  of  John,  they  thought  it  was  his  angel ; 
and  how  Longstatfe  had  told  her  that  when 
be,  Reuben,  entered  Radford's  house,  each  man 


THE    DAGGER    AND   THE   CROSS  333 

thought  it  was  his  ghost ;  and  how  she  was  not 
surprised,  and  knew  him  for  himself  when  he 
walked  through  the  meadow  and  up  the  little 
garden-path  and  took  her  into  his  arms.  It  was 
wonderful  how  quietly  Reuben  sat  and  listened 
to  her.  He  could  not  denj"  that  his  escape  had 
been  little  less  than  miraculous,  considering  that 
he  had  literally  passed  through  the  prison  yard 
in  presence  of  the  sentries,  who  thought  he  was 
one  of  the  officials  or  visitors.  And  was  it  not 
the  hand  of  God,  she  asked,  that,  still  holding 
him  from  arrest,  had  made  him  His  agent  among 
the  stricken  of  the  village?  And  did  he  not  owe 
it  to  God  to  humble  himself  before  His  throne 
with  a  grateful  heart? 

That  night  Clegg  knelt  beside  his  mother  in 
prayer,  and  said  Amen  to  her  simple  petition; 
but  deep  down  in  his  heart  the  motiv^e  of  this 
complaisance  was  his  love  for  Mary  Talbot,  and 
a  desire  to  come  nearer  unto  her  in  thought;  for 
it  seemed  to  him  that  she  suffered  for  his  hard- 
ness toward  the  Faith.  Her  look  of  appeal 
haunted  him.  It  surely  expressed  more  than  a 
common  interest  in  him.  She  had  looked  into 
his  eyes  with  a  meaning  that  was  not  a  rebuke 
but  an  appeal,  and  an  appeal  that  was  sympa- 
thetic, almost  tender.  He  could  see  her  face  in 
his  mind  as  he  walked  homeward,  and  he  found 
himself  speaking  aloud  as  he  wandered  out  of 
his  right  path  and  climbed  the  higher  edge  of 
the  table-land  above  his  cottage.  "Oh,  God," 
he  said,  "if  it  might  be!"  and  for  the  first  time 
for  years  his  heart  was  in  the  cry.     It  was  no 


384  THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS 

mere  exclamation ;  it  was  a  praj-er ;  but  the  next 
moment  he  shuddered  at  it,  as  if  he  had  outraged 
the  poor  sutYeriug  souls  in  the  village  at  his  feet; 
as  if  his  thoughts  of  love,  the  faintest  dream  of 
happiness,  were  an  infamy,  while  on  every  hand 
his  fellow  villagers  were  passing  into  the  Valley 
of  the  Shadow  of  Death. 

Nevertheless,  such  is  the  overwhelming 
strength  of  human  love,  that  he  could  not  re- 
sist a  tremor  of  hope,  that  gave  him  in  the 
future  the  companionship  of  the  only  woman 
who  had  ever  stirred  his  heart,  and  who,  what- 
ever she  might  do,  would  have  an  everlasting 
abiding-place  there.  Again,  he  repeated  his 
supplication,   "Oh,   God,  if  it  might  be!" 

As  his  voice  pierced  the  still  air,  a  star  came 
out  over  Froggatt's  Edge,  and  away  as  far  as 
the  eye  could  trace  an  outline  of  hills  another 
lamp  of  God,  another  and  another,  appeared. 
Then  it  came  into  his  mind  to  ask  himself  what 
he  could  do  to  be  worthy  of  such  an  answer  to 
his  cry,  as  his  saintly  mother  would  ask  for  him, 
knowing  his  nature  and  his  only  ambition  in  life. 
And  now  a  darkness  fell  upon  his  soul,  and  the 
stars,  as  he  thought,  disappeared.  He  was  con- 
scious that,  if  there  was  a  God,  he  was  trying  to 
make  a  bargain  with  Him ;  this  did  not  appear 
in  his  spoken  words,  but  in  his  thoughts.  If  he 
could  be  assured  of  the  realization  of  his  desire, 
he  would  believe  anything,  be  anything,  accept 
any  creed.  It  was  as  if  Satan  tempted  him  to 
a  profanity  that  was  devilish.  He  suddenly 
kuew  that  his  moth^^J'*  f"i^   ^^^^^   TrK^ment,  was 


THE  DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  835 

praying  for  him;  and  her  sudden  influence 
seemed  to  inspire  his  exclamations:  "Get  thee 
behind  me,  Satan!"  and  "Lord,  forgive  me,  and 
count  it  to  my  ignorance  that  I  am  what  I  am!" 

Presently  the  stars  came  out  again,  and  he 
descended  the  hill  and  made  his  way  to  the  cot- 
tage where  the  lamp  of  love  and  hope  shone  out 
against  the  whispering  elms;  and  as  it  came  in 
sight,  he  mingled  with  his  desire  to  do  some- 
thing that  might  win  Mary  Talbot's  approval  a 
longing  to  be  reconciled  with  Mompesson  and 
Stanley,  and  to  come  within  the  pale  of  his 
mother's  faith,  and  be  as  worthy  of  his  nar- 
row escape  from  an  infamous  death  as  he  was 
innocent  of  the  crime  for  which  he  had  been 
condemned. 

And  as  the  days  passed  he  gradually  found  a 
strange  new  comfort  in  his  mother's  example  of 
fortitude,  and  in  her  perfect  immunity  from  sick- 
ness. She  vowed  she  had  never  been  so  strong 
in  her  life.  He  no  longer  wondered  at  her  faith ; 
he  found  it  beautiful. 

Whether  it  was,  as  Mrs.  Clegg  believed,  that 
her  son's  conscious  heart  had  been  mercifully 
touched  by  the  Holy  Ghost,  or  whether  it  was 
the  gentle  influence  of  Mary  Talbot  and  his 
yearning  to  be  acceptable  in  her  sight,  it  is  hard 
to  say ;  but  from  day  to  day  he  became  more 
and  more  tolerant  of  prayer  and  supplication. 
He  no  longer  debated  with  the  two  clergymen, 
and  he  had  secretly  found  solace  in  prayer.  He 
did  not  ask  anything  of  God,  but  he  volunteered 
vows  of  manliness,  of  humility,  pledges  of  peni- 


33G      THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

tence  for  faults  of  word  or  deed,  and  tendered, 
with  huniilit}",  his  gratitude  that  he  had  been 
permitted  to  hve  through  his  trouble  and  to  come 
back  home  when  he  could  be  of  use  to  his  neigh- 
bors and  by  way  of  an  answer  to  his  mother's 
prayers.  Tlien,  for  the  first  time  he  began  to 
fear  that  he  might  be  taken;  and  he  spoke  of 
his  peril  to  Sir  George.  Strange  as  it  may 
seem,  the  chief  authorities  knew  nothing  of 
Clegg's  return  to  Eyam.  The  mountain  village 
was  entirely  cut  off  from  the  world.  It  was  a 
community  apart.  Lepers,  on  some  remote 
island  of  the  sea,  could  not  have  been  more 
alone. 

Death  had  not  yet  become  so  familiar,  though 
it  was  present  in  almost  every  house,  that  the 
passing  of  the  rector's  wife,  in  her  twenty-sev- 
enth year,  did  not  send  a  thrill  of  anguish 
through  many  a  breast.  As  his  servants  led 
the  widowed  husband  away  from  the  couch  of 
death,  he  turned  and  sobbed,  "Farewell!  fare- 
well! all  happy  days!"  And  William  and  Mary 
Howitt  say  there  is  nothing  more  pathetic  in 
literature  than  the  rector's  letters  to  his  chil- 
dren, George  and  Elizabeth,  announcing  to 
them  the  doleful  news  of  the  dear  mother's 
death,  which  are  to  be  found  in  Mr.  William 
Wood's  brief  but  most  impressive  "History  of 
Eyam  and  the  Great  Plague." 

With  the  death  of  Mrs.  Mompesson  all  hope 
went  out  of  the  heart  of  the  mountain  village. 
Despair  made  itself  heard.  Hitherto  the  people 
had  suffered  in  silence,  now  they  cried  to  God 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  837 

for  mercy.  Their  voices  were  heard  in  the 
streets.  The  sufferers  no  longer  endured  their 
pain  with  courage,  their  moans  were  manifest 
in  every  house  upon  which  Death  had  put  his 
silent  seal. 

The  messengers,  who  went  out  to  the  signal 
points  for  food,  returned  with  sullen  dejected 
faces.  The  persons  of  the  outer  world,  whose 
duty  it  was  to  deposit  the  village  rations,  hur- 
ried away  from  the  spot,  scared  and  fearful. 
Everybody  now  looked  for  death.  It  was  the 
month  of  August,  1666.  The  days  of  the  an- 
nual Wake  had  returned.  People  remembered 
now  how  gay  a  time  it  had  been  the  year  pre- 
viousl}^;  and  there  were  those  who  saw  in  the 
plague  a  punishment  for  that  past  gajetj.  But 
Mompesson  and  Stanley  both  presented  the  ter- 
ror from  an  entirely  different  view,  finding  in 
it  still  reason  for  patience,  opening  heaven  to 
the  dead,  and  bidding  the  living  to  be  of  good 
courage. 

On  Sunday  the  service  was  now  held  in  a 
shaded  glen,  where  Nature  had  provided  a 
pulpit  as  if  hewn  from  the  rock,  and  which  to 
this  day  is  called  Cucklet  Church.  Thither 
crept  the  attenuated  flock,  each  man,  woman 
and  child  standing  and  praying  apart  from  the 
other;  a  gaunt,  weird  company,  with  Reuben 
Clegg  and  his  mother  among  the  rest,  Mary 
Talbot  and  her  father  conspicuous  for  the  fear- 
less way  in  which  they  went  among  the  people, 
and  Mompesson  preaching  as  one  not  only  hav- 
ing authority,  but  the  gift  of  divine  eloquence. 


338      THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

But  the  plague  marched  on  with  relentless 
tread ;  and  all  day  long  the  leaves  of  autumn 
fell  upon  fresh-made  graves. 


CHAPTER   FORTY-ONE 

THE    PASSING    OF    FRANCESCA 

Francesca  Roubillac  was  dying  in  Venice. 
She  was  once  more  at  home  in  her  husband's 
house  by  the  Valiero  Palace.  Her  faith  bade 
her  look  for  a  happier  home  beyond;  but  her 
heart  clung  to  the  memory  of  the  days  when 
first  she  had  learned  to  love  the  man  who  had 
won  her  by  his  great  devotion. 

It  was  at  the  setting  of  the  sun.  Her  window 
was  open  to  the  sky.  She  could  hear  the  songs 
of  minstrels  as  they  passed  beneath,  on  their 
way  to  some  great  function  of  state  or  pleasure. 
She  had  confessed  her  sins  and  obtained  absolu- 
tion. They  were  sins  easily  forgiven  by  Heaven, 
though  earthly  judges  might  be  more  exacting. 
We  judge  too  much  from  the  wickedness  of  our 
own  hearts  in  this  world. 

If  Francesca  Roubillac  had  sinned  in  thought, 
she  had  sinned  in  no  other  way.  Tempted  by 
Ziletto,  she  had  struggled  free  from  his  strange 
hypnotic  influence,  and  sought  protection  by  the 
side  of  her  husband.  Whatever  faults  the  Ital- 
ian woman  had,  we  have  seen  them.  Many  a 
saint  lives  in  the  calendar  who  was  less  deserv- 


THE   DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS  339 

ing.  She  loved  dress,  it  is  true;  that  was  less 
of  a  vanity  in  her  days  than  oui'S,  and  in  Italy 
it  was  the  inspiration  of  art  and  beauty. 

As  Roubillac  sat  by  her  on  this  last  evening 
of  her  sojourn  on  earth,  he  recalled  that  it  was 
from  the  open  Avindow  near  which  she  was  lying 
that  he  first  saw  her  land  from  her  gondola,  one 
of  the  few  girl  students  of  the  Valiero  art  school. 
He  sat  by  her  now  with  her  white  thin  hand  in 
his,  and  she  was  making  a  pathetic  appeal  to 
him. 

"ISTay,  dearest,  I  am  assured  of  myself;  it  is 
not  alone  our  dear  Father  Lorenzo  who  promises 
me  safe  and  quick  passage  through  that  half- 
way house  where  the  soul  is  purified  for  its  im- 
mortal inheritance,  but  I  have  seen  the  Mother 
of  God  in  a  vision,  and  I  know  I  am  redeemed. 
Oh,  my  dear  Bernardo,  let  us  not  be  parted  when 
your  time  shall  come.  I  love  you,  Bernardo, 
though  there  is  blood  upon  your  hands.  Nay, 
do  not  turn  your  face  from  me ;  it  was  for  love 
of  me  you  fell ;  it  was  an  earthly  love,  it  defied 
God  and  the  angels ;  as  it  has  not  parted  us  here 
below,  let  it  not  part  us  beyond  the  grave.  Con- 
fess, Bernardo;  confess,  and  live!" 

He  bent  his  head  over  her  hand  that  he  held 
in  his,  and  hid  his  face  from  her. 

"Bernardo,"  she  continued,  raising  herself 
upon  her  pillow  to  place  her  disengaged  hand 
upon  his  head,  *'I  know  how  much  you  suffer; 
God  knows  it  was  all  for  love  of  me.  The 
Blessed  Virgin  knows,  and  she  is  kind  to  men 
who  stake  ih!^\'[  all,  in  this  >vorl4  au^  the  jxex.tr 


340  -"THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS 

for  the  love  of  a  woman,  as  you  have  done, 
Bernardo — as  you  have  done!" 

"Na}-;  peace!"  he  rephed,  not  daring  to  look 
up.     "I  know  not  what  you  mean." 

*'Ah,  yes,  you  do,"  said  the  sweet  voice  of  the 
woman.  "And  I  know.  But  confess  it  not  to 
me,  Bernardo;  not  to  me,  but  to  the  good  Father 
Lorenzo;  he  will  intercede  for  you,  and  I  shall 
have  gone  before  to  prepare  the  way.  Promise 
me  that  when  I  am  called  you  will  relieve  your 
soul  of  its  load  of  sin." 

"But  I  will  not  have  you  gone,"  he  said,  lift- 
ing his  dry  eyes  toward  her,  his  face  drawn  with 
agony,  his  lips  quivering.  ' '  I  will  not  have  you 
gone!" 

Then,  turning  to  the  Calvary  that  hung  upon 
the  wall,  he  looked  toward  it,  exclaiming,  "O 
merciful  God,  spare  her  to  me !  Spare  her  to  the 
world,  that  hath  need  of  her !  Spare  her  to  Art, 
to  Love!  Our  lives  are  so  short,  spare  her  one 
year  more  only,  if  it  be  Thy  will ;  but  take  her 
not  from  me !  I  will  atone,  in  the  dedication  of 
the  remainder  of  my  days  to  the  glorification 
of  Thy  church,  to  the  adornment  of  Thy  holy 
altars!" 

"Nay,  wilt  thou  not  first  confess,  Bernar- 
do?" 

"Burden  not  thy  thoughts  with  my  poor  soul, 
Francesca.  Let  us  talk  of  our  happiness,  and 
pray  to  the  Virgin  to  extend  thy  sojourn  here. 
Dost  thou  remember  when  first  thou  didst  con- 
fess thy  love  to  me?" 

"God  is  merciful,  and  will  forgive  thee  thy 


THE   DAGGER   AND  THE  CROSS  341 

sins  though  they  were  black  as  the  tablets  of 
thine  enemy,"  she  said,  not  heeding  his  reminis- 
cence of  their  happiness. 

'"Tis  not  merciful  to  take  thee  from  me,  Fran- 
cesca;  it  were  merciful  to  let  thee  stay,  now  that 
the  fiend  is  no  longer  permitted  to  darken  our 
path.  Oh,  Francesca,  lift  up  thy  prayer  to  this 
end!" 

"I  would  have  thee  atone,  Bernardo,"  she 
went  on,  as  if  she  had  not  heard  him;  "but  first 
cometh  confession  and  dedication  of  work." 

"Francesca,"  he  said,  looking  up  into  her 
saintly  face,  "thou  art  not  listening  to  me." 

"Heaven  shall  listen,  dear;  the  Mother  of  God 
is  listening  to  thee  even  now,  and  I  will  kneel  at 
her  feet  and  never  rise  until  I  win  her  dear  inter- 
cession for  thee.  When  thou  shalt  dedicate  thy- 
self afresh  to  her  service  and  to  God  Himself, 
the  work  thou  hast  already  done  will  not  be  for- 
gotten. ' ' 

And  now  she  was  bending  her  face  toward 
him,  and  pausing  for  his  reply.  He  was  kneel- 
ing by  her  side.  She  had  risen  upon  her  pillows, 
angelic-like  in  her  pose,  her  pallid  face  lighted 
with  the  evening  sunshine  and  radiant  hj  reason 
of  the  glory  that  was  in  her  eyes.  It  might 
have  been  the  angel  of  the  Ascension,  as  he  had 
painted  lier  on  the  altar  in  the  church  of  San  Ste- 
fano;  and  yet  he  struggled  with  himself  against 
the  certainty  that  she  was  about  to  leave  him. 

"All  the  good  that  I  have  done,  all  that  my 
poor  weak  soul  was  capable  of,  I  owe  to  thy 
sweet  and  holy  inspiration!     And  yet  they  in- 


342  THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS 

vite  thee  hence,  when,  O  ni}-  God,  I  most  need 
thee ;  when  my  soul  yearns  to  do  the  thing  thou 
^vouldst  have  me  do,  and  it  will  lack  the  impulse 
of  thy  guiding  hand," 

"  If  to  me  thou  owest  the  good  thou  hast  done, 
Bernardo,  'tis  to  me  also  thou  owest  thy  ill.  In 
forgiving  me,  in  granting  absolution  to  my  soul, 
shall  it  not  be  taken  into  account  for  thee?  Nay, 
Bernardo,  be  patient,  be  submissive;  unburden 
thy  soul,  repent,  do  penance,  prepare  thyself  to 
meet  thy  heavenly  Judge,  and  make  it  possible 
that  we  may  be  united  in  that  better  world,  to 
which  thine  art  has  pointed  in  many  a  radiant 
figure.  Love  is  everlasting,  Bernardo;  our 
hearts  shall  find  each  other,  whatever  be  our 
immortal  fate;  'tis  for  thee,  dear  love,  to  cast 
the  weight  from  thy  feet  and  the  burden  from 
thy  soul,  that  I  may  stretch  out  my  hand  to  thee 
across  the  gulf,  and  we  may  kneel  together 
before  the  throne  of  mercy  and  of  grace." 

Roubillac  rose  from  his  knees  and  sat  by  her 
on  the  bed.  She  laid  her  head  upon  his  arm, 
her  eyes  riveted  upon  the  sky,  where  the  sun 
was  dropping  into  the  sea. 

"Behold,  I  am  called!"  she  said,  and  pointed 
with  her  outstretched  arm.  Roubillac  turned 
his  face  to  the  open  window.  Beyond  the  wide 
lagoon  he  caught  the  glimmer  of  the  purple 
Adriatic,  Francesca  saw  further.  It  was  a 
company  of  angels  that  beckoned  her. 

"Farewell,  dear  heart!"  she  said;  "kiss  me! 
Shall  I  not  carry  thy  message  of  confession  and 
repentance  ys^ith  me?" 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  343 

He  kissed  her  pale  lips.  A  smile  moved  them ; 
a  bright  light  shone  in  her  eyes. 

"You  promise  me?"  she  whispered,  turning 
to  him  for  the  last  time. 

"I  promise,"  he  replied,  and  a  few  minutes 
later  he  Avas  kneeling  by  the  bed  of  death.  He 
thought  he  heard  a  strain  of  heavenl}^  music  in 
the  air ;  but  it  was  eventime,  and  Venice  is  full 
of  music  when  spring  walks  with  rosy  feet  upon 
her  rippling  waters. 


CHAPTER  FORTY-TWO 

THE   CONFESSION   OF   ROUBILLAC 

"To  see  her  was  to  love  her,"  said  Roubillac 
to  the  priest,  his  friend  and  father  confessor. 
"And  I  loved  her  with  all  my  soul." 

"To  the  sinful  exclusion  of  thy  God,"  said  the 
priest.  "But  He  is  our  Father,  and  hath  sworn 
to  forgive  the  truly  penitent  that  shall  confess 
and  make  atonement.  Have  no  fear,  my  son; 
unburden  thy  soul,  lay  bare  thy  heart;  'twas 
her  last  dying  request  of  thee." 

"But  let  me  recall  those  happy  days,  my 
father;  they  are  fitting  to  thine  ear;  as  thou 
knowest,  'tis  a  comfort  to  remember  them. 
Even  the  fallen  angels  may  have  happy  mo- 
ments, recalling  the  heaven  they  have  lost." 

Lorenzo  and  Roubillac  had  been  boys  together. 
They  were  friends  in  their  5"outh;  and  when 
Lorenzo  became  a  priest  and  Roubillac  a  painter 


344  THE   DAOGER   AND   THE   TROaS 

they  still  were  wont  to  talk  of  worldly  things 
and  great  ambitions.  Lorenzo  knew  of  Rou- 
billac's  love  for  Francesca,  and  took  part  in  the 
ceremony  of  their  marriage.  It  was  natural, 
therefore,  that  Roubillac  should  be  familiar 
with  his  friend,  though  he  wore  the  frock  of  the 
priesthood  and  spoke  with  more  than  an  earthly 
authority. 

"Proceed,  Bernardo.  I  listen  to  thee  as  both 
friend  and  priest;  I  have  a  mortal  man's  sym- 
pathy for  thee,  for  are  we  not  all  born  in  sin  and 
shapen  in  iniquity?" 

"I  was  not  made  to  inspire  a  young  girl's 
heart  with  the  poetry  of  passion,"  continued  the 
penitent,  little  heeding  the  priest's  manful  words 
of  encouragement,  only  intent  upon  the  prompt- 
ings of  his  own  impulse  of  revelation.  He  was 
happy  in  an  egotistical  fashion,  recounting  the 
triumphs  of  his  love  and  the  bliss  of  those  early 
days  of  his  courtship  and  marriage.  "I  was  a 
gaunt,  sad-eyed  man,  engrossed  in  an  art  I  failed 
to  master,  lacking  the  inspiration  that  comes  of 
love  and  its  ennobling  desires,  its  romance,  its 
truth,  its  self-denial  that  springs  from  out  its 
selfishness ;  for  'tis  a  selfish  passion  at  the  out- 
set, but  God  sanctifies  it,  Ithuriel  touches  it  with 
his  spear.  I  found  many  ways  to  strew  her  path 
with  tokens  of  my  admiration.  And  one  day, 
as  thou  knowest,  I  beguiled  her  to  sit  for  my 
Angel  of  the  Ascension.  Thou  knowest  the 
altar  well,  that  stands  in  the  church  of  San 
Stefano,  in  Verona?" 

"A  most  worthy  work,"  said  the  priest- 


THE    DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  345 

' '  May  it  not  count  for  a  good  deed  in  my  rec- 
ord before  Heaven?" 

"Inasmuch  as  it  had  holy  inspiration,  so  it 
will,"  said  the  priest.  "So  spiritual  a  work  is 
a  faithful  use  of  one  of  the  talents  intrusted  to 
thee." 

"It  was  she  who  inspired  it,"  said  Roubillac, 
rising  from  the  seat  where  he  had  been  half- 
kneeling,  half-sitting,  before  Father  Lorenzo, 
who  now  and  then  laid  an  affectionate  hand  upon 
his  lay  friend's  arm. 

"Here  is  the  face,  the  celestial  upraised  eyes 
that  pierce  the  gloom,"  he  continued,  his  own 
eyes  fixed  in  imagination  upon  the  picture. 
"She  lived  for  me,  an  angel  upon  the  earth; 
and  now,  dear  God,  she  has  unfolded  her  wings 
and  taken  flight. ' ' 

"To  intercede,  it  may  be,"  said  the  priest,  "to 
help  lift  thy  soul  to  His  recognition,  to  make  thy 
passage  sure  through  such  purgatorial  prelude 
as  may  haply  purge  thy  soul." 

"And  so  at  last  we  were  wed,"  said  Roubillac, 
as  if  he  had  not  heard  the  priest's  remark,  and 
once  more  sitting  humbly  on  the  low  seat  by  the 
priest.  "Yes,  we  were  wed,  she  and  I.  And 
oh,  the  bliss  of  her  companionship !  She  was  the 
model  in  my  art,  the  worshiped  of  my  soul'—" 

"To  the  neglect  of  Holy  Church,  alas!" 

"Nay,  I  devoted  her  and  myself  to  Holy 
Church.  Thou  knowest  I  did ;  and  whereof  the 
church's  altars,  her  chapels,  her  sanctuaries  bear 
witness.  It  was  friendship  at  first,  pity  per- 
chance ;  but  at  last  she  loved  me  for  my  devotion 


34R  THE   DAGGER   AND   THE    (  ROflf, 

to  her.  There  was  not  a  wish  of  hers  I  did  not 
gratify  before  it  was  half  confesseil.  Nay,  nav ; 
'twas  not  vanity  nor  selfishness,  'twas  ni(n'e 
fatherly  than  the  lover;  'twas  such  as  might 
become  our  Father  which  is  in  Heaven,  since 
thou  sayest  He  is  love  itself  and  giveth  what  is 
asked  of  Him." 

•  "Attune  thy  thoughts,  my  son,  with  more  of 
reverence,"  said  the  priest;  but  Roubillac  was 
once  more  wholly  occupied  with  the  reminis- 
cences of  his  short  life — for  he  had  never  lived, 
he  averred,  until  he  had  seen  Francesca.  "But, 
alas  the  day!"  he  went  on,  "one  who  called 
himself  a  student  of  our  art,  a  traveler,  a  poet, 
a  citizen  of  Florence,  came  to  Venice;  a  very 
prince,  they  said  who  professed  to  know  him, 
endowed  with  wealth  of  intellect  and  gold;  his 
name,  Giovanni  Ziletto." 

"I  knew  the  man;  'tis  in  regard  to  him  thou 
wouldst  confess,"  said  the  priest;  "and  'twas  of 
him  I  promised  thy  saintly  wife  I  would  remind 
thee,  not  alone  as  thy  friend  and  fellow-citizen, 
but  as  became  mine  office. ' ' 

"  'Tis  well,"  said  Roubillac,  "I  thank  thee. 
She  hath  my  promise  to  confess  unto  thee  all 
that  she  believed  was  a  burden  to  my  soul,  so 
heavy  that  it  might  be  a  barrier  against  our 
meeting  again  in  heaven." 

"And  his  name  was  Ziletto?"  said  the  priest, 
anxious  to  keep  the  penitent  close  to  his  text. 

*'A  pagan  god,  a  thing  of  beauty  without  a 
heart,  but  with  the  devilish  passion  of  a 
fiend!" 


THE   DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS  347 

"Judge  thou  not!"  said  the  priest,  "God 
fashioned  him." 

"And  if  He  did,  why,  then,  'twas  in  mockery 
of  His  saints,  in  mockery  of  His  own  dear  Son ; 
for  He  gave  him  a  form  and  features  that  might 
have  matched  the  noblest  and  sweetest.  Picture 
the  Angel  Gabriel,  and  thou  mightest  have  been 
content  to  see  Ziletto  in  thy  imagination.  The 
ancients  would  have  raised  him  aloft  as  Apollo. 
We  Christian  painters  would  have  given  him  a 
Divine  afflatus;  and  yet,  great  Heaven,  he  was 
a  devil — an  evil  spirit,  a  man  with  everything 
but  a  heart.  The  blood  of  all  my  veins  rushes 
to  my  own  and  stops  its  beating  when  I  think  of 
him . " 

Roubillac  flung  himself  upon  his  knees,  and 
buried  his  face  in  his  hands  and  groaned.  There 
was  a  long  pause. 

Presently  the  priest,  kneeling  by  the  side  of 
the  penitent,  said,  "Think  of  Christ's  patience 
and  His  agony.  All  thy  sufferings  are  as  a 
sunnner  breeze  to  the  simoom  compared  with  His ; 
He  shed  tears  of  blood.  Be  calm,  my  son;  dear 
friend,  be  calm." 

"Thou  hast  said  ere  now,  thou  friend  of  my 
youth,  Lorenzo,  thou  pastor  and  confessor  of  my 
age,  'Let  thy  soul  be  free,  fling  down  thy  thoughts 
before  God,  lay  bare  thy  heart,  quit  thee  of  thy 
burden';  and  so  I  will — and  so  I  will!" 

"The  Mother  of  God  help  thee !"  said  the  priest. 
"Our  Heav^enly  Father,  through  the  intermediary 
of  His  Gracious  Son,  be  with  thee!" 

"This  man,  this  fiend  in  human  shape,"  con- 


348      THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

tinued  Koubillac,  now  rising  to  his  feet,  "this 
man,  that  might  have  vied  for  beauty  with  the 
Angel  Gabriel,  this  Satan  smiled  upon  my  wife ; 
there  was  music  in  his  voice,  as  there  was  on  the 
forked  tongue  of  the  Serpent  in  Paradise;  he  told 
her  of  the  glories  of  other  lands,  of  courts,  of 
pageants,  and  of  such-like  things.  Only  they  can 
play  upon  a  woman's  heart  who  know  the  strings. 
Thou  rememberest  how  I  sought  thy  counsel?" 
"Right  well,  my  son;  right  well." 
"She  was  a  bird  fluttering  toward  the  piping 
of  the  decoy  among  the  twigs  of  the  limed  roses 
and  polyanders;  but  I  rescued  her.  Thy  friend 
of  the  English  palace.  Father  Castelh,  brought 
to  thy  knowledge  the  embassadorial  messenger; 
it  seemed  like  God's  providence  that  I  was  at 
hand." 

"It  was  the  answer  to  mj^  prayer.  Sometimes 
God  answers  when  we  are  peremptorj^  when  we 
strive  against  Him ;  then  we  have  our  way,  in- 
stead of  urging  'Thy  will  be  done.'  And  so  He 
sent  thee  and  thy  wife  to  England." 

"He  sent  us  to  an  earthly  paradise;  but  He 
sent  the  serpent  also.  A  weary  journey  to  a 
peaceful  home;  the  color  came  back  to  her 
cheeks,  but  not  till  many  days  were  spent.  And 
then,  as  it  had  been  in  Venice,  so  'twas  in  Eyam ; 
when  most  we  thought  we  were  happy  there  fell 
upon  our  path  the  shadow  of  Ziletto,  and  he 
announced  himself  with  unblushing  front,  and 
almost  in  Christ's  own  words,  'It  is  I,  be  not 
afraid!'  " 

The  priest  crossed  himself.     Roubiilac  leaned 


THE    DAGGER   AND   THE    CROSS  349 

agaiust  the  frescoed  wall  of  the  priest's  room, 
and  the  reflection  of  the  back-waters  of  the  great 
canal  made  a  dancing  glory  on  the  ceiling.  It 
was  a  humble  dwelling  place ;  yet  it  lacked  none 
of  the  atmosphere  of  Art  that  filled  the  City  in 
the  Sea  within  and  without  her  human  abodes. 
Lorenzo  would  not  have  been  the  loving  friend 
of  Roubillac  without  showing  a  comrade's  devo- 
tion ;  this  had  been  manifested  in  the  decoration 
of  his  rooms,  in  a  corner  by  the  Church  v)f  San 
Martino,  and  it  was  made  further  manifest  by 
his  taking  the  painter  to  his  own  home  after  the 
burial  of  Francesca.  Roubillac  had  been  literally 
led  by  the  hand  to  the  priest's  house.  Lorenzo 
had  bid  him  come  and  stay  until  such  time  as  he 
should  be  sufficientl}'  recovered  to  take  up  his 
work  again,  and  live  for  the  adornment  of  the 
church  where  Francesca  and  her  father  had  wor- 
shijDed  when  she  was  a  girl. 

"But  first  confession,"  Roubillac  had  repeated; 
"first  confession,  then  atonement.  And  I  prom- 
ised; it  is  registered  in  heaven."  And  when 
the  priest  encouraged  him  to  this  end  Roubillac 
said  surely  the  record  was  known  in  all  its  black 
detail,  and  why  should  he  scorch  the  heart  of  his 
friend,  why  burn  his  story  into  another  heart,  to 
condemn  the  handiwork  of  God  Himself?  But 
tliese  sayings  were  only  tokens  of  remorse  and 
promptings  of  the  devil,  so  Lorenzo  said,  and 
confession  was  the  only  key  to  forgiveness;  and  a 
promise  to  the  dead,  was  it  not  sacred?  So  it 
had  come  to  pass  that  Roubillac  knelt  at  the  feet 
of  the  priest  and  made  confession ;  but  Lorenzo 


350  THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSfci 

had  not  in  his  pure  soul,  burdened  though  it  was 
with  many  guilty  secrets  of  human  depravity, 
dreamed  of  anything  so  black  as  the  guilt  of  his 
friend,  Bernardo  Roubillac. 

"Rest  thee,  thou  art  faint,"  said  the  priest,  as 
Roubillac  staggered  toward  the  couch  that  was 
the  priest's  bed,  sheltered  in  an  alcove  of  the 
room,  and  with  a  Cross  of  gold  at  the  head  that 
had  been  beaten  out  of  some  tawdry  ornament 
of  a  mosque,  from  the  East,  where  Venetian 
troops  had  flung  down  the  Crescent,  and  brought 
rich  spoil  to  the  Adriatic,  as  v/itness  to  this  day 
the  relics  of  the  valor  of  her  youth. 

"It  wrings  my  heart  to  tell  thee  all;  'twill 
wring  thine  own.  But  perchance  God  knows 
what  is  best  for  the  puppets  of  His  hand,  the 
creatures  of  His  hate  and  love — " 

"Nay,  desist.  Thou  dost  profane  His  holy 
name,"  said  the  priest. 

"It  had  been  well  thou  hadst  not  prayed  for 
us,  or,  perad venture,  with  less  of  thy  heart  and 
soul  in  the  appeal;  then,  perchance,  had  we 
never  left  Venice — " 

' '  We  know  not,  when  we  suffer,  that  'tis  for 
our  good,"  the  priest  replied.  He  knelt  by  the 
side  of  his  blaspheming  friend,  who  had  flung 
himself  upon  the  coach  and  lay  there,  prone 
upon  his  face.  "And  every  journey  comes  to 
an  end  at  last,  and  every  sin  the  human  mind 
can  think  or  the  human  hand  commit  may  be 
forgiv^en  to  the  truly  penitent.  Have  courage, 
friend;  there  is  joy  in  heaven  over  the  repentant 
sinner,  and  to  thy  credit  already  the  score  stands 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS  351 

well;  blot  it  not  out.  God  so  loved  the  world 
that  he  gave  His  only  begotten  Son  for  us,  an 
atonement  for  our  sins,  that  we  might  have  ever- 
lasting life.  Oh,  Bernardo,  what  can  I  say  to 
thee,  dear  friend  of  my  youth,  to  Hft  thee  out 
of  the  pit  into  which  thy  thoughts  are  fall- 
ing? Arise,  take  up  thy  cross,  and  follow  the 
Master." 

"Thou  art  very  good  to  me,  Lorenzo;  but  why 
describe  to  thee  the  scorching  of  the  plowshare 
over  which  I  passed  for  weary  days  and  nights 
a  watch  upon  my  wife,  an  eavesdropper,  a  spy? 
One  day  he  came  to  me.  'Thou  art  jealous,'  he 
said  J  'and  thou  wrongest  me;  I  am  in  love,  but 
not  where  thou  thinkest.  Dost  know  the  dainty 
morsel  they  call  Mary  Talbot  in  the  village  yon- 
der? 'Tis  she  I  lov^e;  and  if  you  will  aid  me,  I 
swear  that  if  there  be  so  much  as  a  fancy,  ever 
so  slight,  on  thy  wife's  part  in  the  way  of  love 
or  friendship  for  me,  I  will  make  Francesca  hate 
me.'  I  had  nearly  slain  him  where  he  stood; 
but  it  seemed  that  he  had  a  sudden  power  over 
me,  a  power  that  was  more  than  mortal,  and  I 
stood  open-mouthed  and  listened  to  him.  'I  will 
leave  thee  undisturbed,  in  thy  Art  and  in  thy 
love,'  he  said.  It  was  a  bargain  with  the  devil, 
such  as  Faust  might  have  made  with  Mephis- 
topheles  in  the  legend.  I  knew  it;  and  could 
not  choose  but  Hsten  to  him.  'What  is  it  I  may 
do  to  prove  thee?*  I  asked.  '  She  is  coy,  this  En- 
glish maiden,  and  dare  not  acknowledge  my 
love;  the  village  would  kill  her;  thej-  hate  us, 
who  are  foreigners.'     I  knew  this  was  false;  for 


352  THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS 

the  people  had  been  kind  to  us,  and  Sir  George 
Talbot  hal  even  played  the  host  to  Ziletto;  he 
had  broken  broad  with  him.  And  yet  it  sounded 
true ;  I  had  heard  of  a  certain  antagonism  among 
the  English  to  foreigners,  and  it  was  to  me,  as 
he  spoke,  a  fact  of  my  own  experience.  I  was 
bewitched;  it  cannot  be  otherwise;  he  was  a 
magician,  a  fiend,  and  I  came  to  think  he  was 
my  friend,  that  he  desired  to  remove  what  he 
declared  to  be  his  unconscious  spell  from  Fran- 
cesca;  and  again  I  said,  'What  is't  I  may  do  to 
prove  thee?'  'I  have  sounded  Father  Castelli  on 
a  secret  marriage,'  he  replied,  'to  which  she  is 
not  averse,  but  he  will  none  of  it;  his  position  is 
delicate  and  difficult;  they  hate  the  True  Faith 
now  in  England;  any  day  he  might  be  arrested; 
the  Stafford- Bradshaws,  who  protect  him  in  his 
office,  run  the  risk  of  attainder.  Bradshaw  is  a 
Presbyterian ;  it  is  his  wife.  Lady  Stafford,  who 
is  Catholic  and  of  the  True  Faith;  and  you, 
Roubillac,  are  engaged  in  work  that  is  more  or 
less  public.  Father  Castelli  is  employed  on  a 
secret  and  dangerous  service;  and  so  I  may  not 
espouse  the  maid,  either  in  public  or  in  private — 
it  is  against  Father  Castelli's  policy.'  'Well?'  I 
answered,  'then  what  wouldst  thou  with  me?' 
'It  is  for  thee  to  take  his  place.  She  and  I  must 
kneel  at  an  altar ;  she  is  at  heart  a  Catholic.  To 
me  it  matters  not,  only  that  she  be  mated  to  me, 
in  very  truth  or  otherwise;  but  it  must  be  to 
Mary  Talbot  a  reality.'  At  first  I  did  not  com- 
prehend the  drift  of  what  he  said,  and  I  an- 
swered, 'Let  her  and  thou  kneel  at  the  altar  of 


THE   DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS  353 

her  own  Faith;  take  her  to  her  father's  Church.* 
*That  may  not  be,'  he  said.  'Listen!  I  have 
need  of  thee,  thou  of  me ;  thou  knowest  what  it 
is  to  love,  so  likewise  do  I.  Thou  knowest  what 
it  is  to  wait  and  doubt,  to  love  and  hope  and 
fear,  to  have  thy  brain  on  fire,  so  likewise  do  I. 
Thou  knowest  what  it  is  to  possess  that  thou 
lovest;  I  would  likewise,  for,  till  now,  I  never 
knew  what  love  is,  never  felt  ready  to  barter  my 
life  for  a  woman's  smile.  And  there  is  no  other 
way;  'tis  only  for  thee  to  assume  the  priest,  to 
say  a  few  words  at  the  small  altar  in  the  Old 
Hall  chapel  where  thou  art  at  work,  and  she  is 
mine,  to  stay  or  go,  to  remain  in  Eyam  until  I 
have  won  over  her  father,  or  to  depart  with  me 
to  Italy,  the  delights  of  which,  the  beauty  and 
the  music,  she  longeth  for.  But  these  English 
women  are  cold  and  coy,  and  want  the  touch  of 
a  Church  to  thaw  their  souls ;  and  when  thou 
hast  done  this  slight  service,  thou  and  thine  will 
be  free  of  me  forever ;  I  swear  it,  nay,  wilt  thou 
not  aid  me  for  love  of  thine  own,  and — '  Why 
dost  thou  not  speak.  Father  Lorenzo?  Friend, 
thou  seest  that  I  fell ;  that  is  why  thou  leavest 
me  to  plod  over  the  burning  share," 

"I  am  listening  to  thee,  my  son;  proceed." 
**  'I  do  but  remain  in  Eyam  until  the  dressing 
of  the  Wells,'  continued  the  tempter;  'I  have 
undertaken  to  decorate  Clegg's  Spring  at  the 
Feast  of  the  Wells,  the  celebration  of  Ascension 
they  call  it,  the  festival  of  Flora  is  its  rightful 
name;  for  this  I  stay,  and  'tis  for  thee  to  make 
my  happiness  complete,  and  thine  ownl'  " 


354      THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS 

Here  Roubillac  pushed  back  his  gray  hair  from 
his  ample  forehead,  and  fixed  his  e3'es  upon  the 
priest.  Tlien,  with  a  wild  cry  that  was  like  a 
sob,  he  said,  "I  did  it!" 

"Sacrilege!"  exclaimed  the  priest. 

"I  stood  in  Father  Castelli's  shoes;  I  spoke 
the  blessed  words  of  the  sacrament  of  marriage 
— I  laid  my  hands  upon  her  head — I  blessed  her !" 

"Thou  art  lost!"  said  the  jjriest. 

"Nay,  then  listen,"  said  Roubillac,  with  a 
mocking  laugh.  "I  am  doubly  damned,  for  this 
is  but  the  beginning  of  my  sin,  but  the  prologue 
to  my  crime." 

"Canst  thou  be  Roubillac,  the  Bernardo  Rou- 
billac I  knew  here  in  Venice  from  boyhood?" 
said  the  priest. 

"Thy  prayer  was  impious!"  exclaimed  Rou- 
billac, beating  his  breast.  "  'Tis  not  for  mortals 
such  as  thou  to  dictate  to  God.  'Twas  thou  who 
sent  us  across  the  sea  to  our  awful  fate !  Thou, 
priest;  thou!" 

"Lord  have  mercy  upon  him;  he  knows  not 
what  he  says!" 

"Nay,  comfort  not  thyself  in  such  hope;  I 
know  too  well.  Listen,  priest.  I  will  tell  thee 
aU -listen!" 


CHAPTER   FORTY-THREE 

THE  FURTHER  CONFESSION   OF   ROUBILLAC 

"Yes,  Lorenzo,  I  did  it,  that  nameless  deed 
of  profanity,  of  sacrilege;   and  more.     Listen!" 


THE   DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS  355 

continued  tlie  penitent,  beads  of  perspiration 
breaking  out  upon  his  forehead.  "Not  alone 
the  impiety  of  it  to  the  Ciiurch,  to  God  the 
Father,  but  to  her,  that  innocent  girl  of  the  En- 
glish village,  daughter  of  the  chief  citizen,  the 
magistrate,  the  titled  courtier,  the  knight,  hon- 
ored by  his  king  no  doubt  for  some  deed  of  valor, 
I,  Bernardo  Roubillac,  painter  of  the  altars  of 
God,  mate  of  that  pure  soul  Francesca — I,  the 
friend  of  thy  youth — I  did  this  thing." 

And  such  is  human  nature,  such  the  pride  of 
country,  that  Lorenzo  remembered  at  the  mo- 
ment that  Roubillac  was  of  Spanish  origin. 

"Nay,  dear  friend,  there  needs  no  purgatory 
after  this  life,  no  fiery  passage  to  the  hell  that 
is  prepared  for  the  impious  outcast.     There  are 

fiercer  fires  than  the  material  flame I 

stood  before  the  altar,  I  joined  their  hands,  I 
pronounced  the  benediction.  She  thought  the 
voice  was  Castelli's.  'Twas  the  voice  of  the 
fiend.  The  hand  that  trembled  on  her  bended 
head  was  mine.  But  he  had  possession  of  me 
— Ziletto,  the  evil  one,  the  tempter,  the  serpent 
who  had  beguiled  the  woman.  She  was  the 
Gretchen  of  the  German  legend,  but  there  was 
no  Faust;  the  devil  himself  was  her  paramour, 
for  I  had  no  companionship  in  it;  and  yet  it 
seemed  that  I  did  it  for  love,  a  selfish  unreason- 
ing love.  .  .  .  And  so  I  did  this  woful  thing; 
I,  a  layman,  arrogating  to  myself  the  priestly 
office.  In  Castelli's  reverend  name,  I,  a  pre- 
tender to  God's  ordinances,  I  dared  to  bless 
them She  looked  up  into  Ziletto's  face 


366  THE   DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS 

and  passed  out  into  the  night,  leaning  with  happy 

faith  and  love  upon  his  arm And   I — 

'tis  ahiiost  black  enough  for  fiends  to  laugh  at 
— I  went  to  Francesca's  chamber.  Finding  her 
upon  her  knees,  I  sought  to  kneel  by  her  side, 

but  fell  senseless  at  her  feet It  was 

kindness  in  Him  without  whose  permission  not 
even  a  sparrow  falls,  to  steep  my  soul  in  obliv- 
ion, until  it  should  achieve  its  balance  once  more. 
The  good  Father  Castelli,  who  had  just  returned 
from  a  journey,  pitied  me,  and,  with  Francesca, 
ministered  unto  me.  They  ascribed  my  malady 
to  overwork ;  for  I  had  been  much  engrossed  in 
the  decoration  of  one  of  Eyam's  holy  wells  in 
honor  of  the  Ascension!  .  .  .  Didst  ever  con- 
fess so  vile  a  hypocrite,  Lorenzo?" 

Once  more  he  flung  himself  upon  the  couch 
face  downward,  and  groaned  in  agony  of  spirit- 

"I  pity  thee!"  said  the  priest;  "I  pity  thee!" 

"Nay,  pity  me  not,"  said  Roubillac,  standing 
up  afresh  and  pushing  back  his  gray  hair;  "  'tis 
early  to  pity  me.  Were  it  not  that  my  poor  weak 
soul  longs  to  meet  her  once  again,  in  the  sacred 
halls  whither  she  has  fled,  and  had  I  not  prom- 
ised her  that  I  would  confess  to  thee,  perchance 
I  would  have  asked  naught  better  than  to  follow 
Ziletto  to  hell  and  meet  him  there,  face  to  face, 
and  stab  him  again  to  the  death,  if  it  might  be 
so,  and  spit  upon  him!" 

"Thou  art  mad,  my  son.  I'll  hear  no  more 
until  thou  hast  calmed  thy  spirit  with  prayer. 
Thou  speakest  in  a  tangle,  without  sequence  of 
fact  or  circumstance." 


THE  DAGGER  AND   THE   CROSS  35t 

**Nay,  thou  shalt  hear  me  to  the  end!  I  told 
thee  he  went  forth  into  the  night;  she,  trusting, 
and  in  good  faith,  leaning  upon  his  arm.  He 
had  his  will  of  that  sweet  innocent;  for,  with 
words  of  holy  import  and  masquerading  in  the 
character  of  Castelli,  I  had  given  him  the  rights 
of  a  husband — I,  Roubillac,  the  just  man,  who 
had  been  permitted  to  paint  an  angel  of  the 
Ascension  that  dominates  the  famous  altar  of 
San  Stefano!  .  .  .  But  oh,  I  was  rightly  pun- 
ished ;  for  within  one  short  week  he  had  returned 
to  that  baser  passion  from  which  Francesca  and 
I  had  fled,  and  I  had  reason  to  believe  that  he 
had  achieved  the  ruin  of  my  wife,  blasted  her 
happiness  and  mine,  broken  the  hideous  bond  of 
truce  he  swore  to  me,  preyed  upon  her  pure  soul, 
bedabbled  her  immortal  wings  with  mud — " 

"Thou  wrongedst  her!"  said  the  priest. 

' '  God  help  me,  I  know  it  now !  I  did  not  know 
it  then,  for  the  demon  Jealousy  had  me  by  the 
throat.  Yet  I  forgave  her,  and  in  my  heart  dis- 
believed the  damning  thing  that  he  put  into  my 
thoughts ;  for,  thou  seest,  from  vanity  or  hatred 
of  my  happiness,  he  boasted  of  his  victory,  not 
in  words,  but  with  subtle  suggestion  that  filled 
me  with  misery ;  and  thenceforward  he  renewed 
his  visits  to  the  Old  Hall,  professing  that  he 
came  to  see  Father  Castelli.  Francesca  grew 
unhappy,  and  pined  for  home,  and  there  was  the 
old  look  of  appeal  and  fear  in  her  eyes.  .  .  One 
d.ay  I  missed  her  for  many  hours,  and  knew  not 
whither  she  had  strayed.  Ziletto  brought  her 
home.     She  had  missed  her  way,  he  said,  in  the 


358  THE   DAGGER    AND   THE   CROSg, 

mazes  of  the  Old  Hall  gardens,  and  as  he  said  so 
there  was  the  devil  in  his  cruel  eye.  .  .  I  made 
no  vow,  but  I  knew  that  I  should  murder  him  ; 
I  knew  it  as  by  an  instinct ;  and  I,  too,  smiled 
with  the  red  thought  burning  into  my  life,  when 
Ziletto's  false  lips  curled  as  if  with  some  mirth- 
ful scoffing  at  the  mock  he  had  made  of  me.  But 
I  took  her  by  the  hand,  my  wife  that  had  fallen, 
as,  God  forgive  me,  I  thought— and  of  all  the 
sins  of  my  soul  and  body,  the  greatest  of  all  is 
that  I  doubted  her,  but  only  as  one  would  say  of 
some  poor  victim,  that  the  fiend  had  bewitched 
her,  that  she  knew  not  what  she  did.  And  yet  I 
should  have  known  then,  as  I  know  now,  that  she 
was  as  far  beyond  his  power  as  the  Virgin's  Son 
Himself  when  the  devil  took  Plim  into  a  high 
mountain  and  showed  Him  the  kingdoms  of  the 
earth.  But  I  knew  it  not ;  I  had  no  talismanic 
touch  in  my  shriveled  nature  equal  to  such  divina- 
tion of  her  pure  soul,  though,  God  knows,  I  tried 
to  be  worthy  of  her." 

The  chanting  of  a  distant  choir  came  in  through 
the  half-open  window,  and  Roubillac,  drawing  his 
robe  about  his  spare  figure,  paced  the  room  with 
head  low  bent,  and  eyes,  for  the  first  time  in  all 
that  solemn  time,  dimmed  with  tears.  The  priest 
stood  beside  him  and  laid  his  hand  upon  his  arm, 
and  paced  the  room  with  sympathetic  tread.  He 
was  not  all  priest,  Lorenzo,  and  his  heart  was 
very  human. 

"  Didst  tlioii  not  question  her  ?"  he  presently 
asked. 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CKOSS.        359 

"It  seemed  to  me  there  was  confession  in 
her  eyes,  as  there  was  triumph  in  his.  I  loved 
her  too  deeply  for  aught  but  pity  for  her  plight. 
I  knew  that  Jie  worked  by  spells.  Did  she  not 
fl}^  from  him  in  Yenice,  and  discover  his  plot 
unto  both  of  us,  thee  and  me  ?  It  came  into  my 
mind  to  remember  that  even  then  his  influence 
had  wellnigh  prevailed.  And  we  met,  he  and  I ; 
but  neither  the  craft  of  Pisani  the  swordsman 
nor  the  justice  of  my  cause  could  overthrow  him. 
"What  questioning  needs  the  dove  touching  the 
deadly  fascination  of  the  serpent?  Who  con- 
troverts the  strength  of  the  wolf  against  the 
lamb?" 

"  Nay,  our  Heavenly  Father  be  thanked  that 
thou  spared  her  the  humiliation  of  such  question- 
ing.    How  much  thou  wrongedst  her  in  thought 
I  may  not  say,  lest  I  become  as  unworthy  a  priest 
as  thou,  poor  mocker  of  the  living  and  the  dead  !" 
"  Thou  art  very  good  to  me,"  said  Roubillac, 
his  voice  softening.     "  'Twas  not  of  his  own  im- 
pulse that  he  spared  her ;  if  there  is  miraculous 
interposition,  only  thus  could  the  dove  escape  the 
serpent.     There  was,  nevertheless,  the  boast  of 
the  deed  in  his  looks  and  in  his  voice,  that  mocked 
me  with  the  same  intensity  of  hatred  that  blazed 
in  his  baleful  countenance  when  we  parted   at 
Yenice,  he  triumphant,  I  groveling  at  his  feet, 
disarmed,  disgraced.  .  ,     Ah,  dear  friend,  'twas 
hard  to  bear  and  live;  but  I  bore  it  with  patience 
— did  I  not  so?     I  became  an  exile  that  I  might 
be  free  from  his  persecution,  and  Francesca  un- 


360  THE    DAGGER    AND   THE   CROSS. 

trameled  by  his  devilish  designs.  Nay,  I  do  not 
seek  to  justify  myself.  .  .  I  slew  him,  without 
quarter,  without  remorse ;  and  lest  he  might  not 
know  the  hand  that  struck  him,  I  whispered  in 
his  ear,  'Devil!  'Tis  I,  lioubillac.  Get  thee 
back  to  hell,  thou  fiend  incarnate ;  'tis  Eoubillac 
that  speeds  thee  thither !'  " 

Then  once  more  Roubillac  gave  way  to  the 
frenzy  of  passion  and  remorse ;  not  remorse  for 
the  death  of  Ziletto,  but  that  he  should  have  har- 
bored an  unkind  thought  of  Francesca.  In  his 
imagination  he  saw  her,  still  alive  and  happy  but 
for  that  fateful  spell,  the  evil  eye  of  the  Floren- 
tine devil.  Waving  Lorenzo  aside,  he  flung  him- 
self upon  the  floor  and  gnashed  his  teeth ;  then 
rose  to  his  feet  and  reviled  his  Maker,  and  deliv- 
ered himself  of  such  impious  things  that  the  priest 
covered  his  face  with  his  hood  and  groaned  aloud 
with  pitying  horror. 

"  Peace,  in  the  name  of  Our  Holy  Mother,  and 
in  God's  name !"  he  exclaimed,  when  at  last  Rou- 
billac  gave  momentary  pause  and  wiped  the  sweat 
from  his  pale  3''et  burning  face.  "  Oh,  Bernardo, 
for  her  sake,  for  thine  own !" 

"  Nay,  'tis  useless,  priest !"  Eoubillac  exclaimed, 
confronting  Lorenzo  with  defiant  action  and 
flaming  eyes ;  "  thou  canst  not  stay  me !  Damn 
him  !  Ten  thousand  curses  shrivel  him  where  he 
lies  howling  in  the  pit !  ...  .  I  should  have 
dragged  him  to  the  scene  of  his  riot  and  tortured 
him,  his  flesh  torn  with  pincers!  I  was  too  gen- 
tle.   'Twas  the  vengeance  of  a  poltroon,  a  pal- 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE    CROSS.  361 

tering  "with  opportunity ;  I  did  but  cut  the  thread 
of  his  vile  life,  as  one  might  still  the  beating  of 
some  sad  heart  for  pity !" 

As  if  the  word  pity  had  found  an  echo  in  some 
tender  corner  of  his  nature,  he  flung  up  his  arms 
in  deprecation  of  his  rage,  and  turning  his  drawn 
face,  wrinkled  with  his  passion,  toward  the  priest, 
he  said,  "  Forgive  me,  dear  friend ;  have  patience. 

I  am  mad But  the  coward  in  his  black 

heart  cried  aloud  nevertheless;  the  listening 
night  heard  his  shriek,  and  my  soul  responded 

with  delight  as  I  fled  through  the  darkness 

'Twas  thus,  Lorenzo!  I  knew  his  rendezvous. 
They  called  it  'My  Lady's  Bower.'  I  had 
smoothed  his  way  thither  on  that  night  when  I 
played  the  part  of  Father  Castelli — I,  the  good 
and  honest  Roubillac,  the  famous  Venetian,  mark 
3''ou,  the  noble  blood  of  Spanish  dons  and  Italian 

virtue  in  his  unworthy  veins But  I  was 

not  alone  in  this  fatal  secret,  as  it  seemed.  There 
is  no  subterfuge  that  can  blind  the  true  lover,  the 
devoted  heart.  There  was  a  native  suitor  for  the 
hand  of  Mary  Talbot,  one  Keuben  Clegg,  a  man 
of  sober  mien  and  earnest  purpose,  a  student,  a 
man  of  science,  though,  mayhap,  groping  in  the 
dark ;  but  a  man  of  heart  and  brain.  Until  Zi- 
letto  came  he  was  happy  in  his  hopes,  for  this 
woman,  Mary  Talbot,  was  beautiful  and  of  a  rare 

nature It  was  moonlight ;  a  moon  that 

seemed  to  have  secrets  of  her  own  ;  a  moon  that 
shut  out  the  world  from  My  Lady's  Bower  at 
intervals,  as  if  to  protect  the  English  belle  from 


362        THE  iDAGQER  AND  THE  CROSS. 

herself,  then  shone  out  again,  with  inspiring,  if 
wavering  beams.  .  .  .  All  Nature  might  have 
been  interested  in  the  tragedy  of  that  far-away 
corner  in  the  world  beyond  the  seas.  There  were 
strange  stiirrngs  in  the  trees,  weird  cries  of  night 
birds,  and  the  fox  crossed  my  path  more  than 
oncejas  I  crept  through  the  woods  and  the  bracken 
to  the  cover  by  the  glen  where  I  knew  he  must 
pass.  And  behold  they  came  forth,  down  the 
slope  from  Sir  George  Talbot's  garden,  Ziletto 
and  the  woman  I  had  fraudulently  given  over  to 
him  with  tlie  mock  blessings  of  the  Church." 

"  'Tis  infamous  !"  groaned  the  priest.  "  What 
penance  can  atone  for  such  profane  revolt !" 

"And  as  I  stood  apart,  my  dagger  strongly 
gripped,  vengeance  in  my  soul,"  continued  the 
penitent,  his  sunken  eyes  flashing,  his  lips  apart, 
his  bony  hand  clutching  an  imaginary  knife," 
"  there  came  upon  the  scene  that  same  native,  the 
man  Clegg,  and  with  brief  parley  of  words  he 
seized  Ziletto  by  the  throat ;  and  all  in  a  moment 
it  came  into  my  thoughts  that  he  would  rob  me 
of  my  revenge,  beguile  me  of  the  bliss  I  had  prom- 
ised myself.  I  stepped  between  them  from  out 
my  hiding-place,  a  shadowy  minister  of  justice, 
and,  as  the  moon  hid  herself,  I  stabbed  him  thrice, 
and  whispered  in  his  ear  the  message  I  told  thee 
of,  '  Devil !  'Tis  I,  Eoubillac.  Get  thee  back  to 
hell,  thou  fiend  incarnate;  'tis  Eoubillac  that 
speeds  thee  thither !'  1  hastened  back  again  to 
the  Old  Hall  and  sat  me  down  upon  a  seat  out- 
side the  refectory,  where  Father  Castelli  sought 


THE  DAGGER  AXD  THE  CEOSS.        36S 

Tne.  It  had  been  the  festival  of  the  Springs,  and 
we  went  in  to  supper;  and  lo  and  behold,  the 
clock  struck,  and  I  noted  the  time,  so  that  it 
might  be  given  evidence  that  I  was  sitting  there 
w^ith  friends  and  comrades  at  about  the  hour 
"when  the  murder  of  Ziletto  might  have  been  com- 
mitted ;  for  I  had  become  cunning  too,  as  well  as 
vengeful.  When  one  falls  in  sin,  one  falls  easily 
after  the  first  descent.  It  might  well  be  that  ere 
the  deed  was  well  disclosed  to  the  man  Clegg  and 
the  mock  wife,  I  was  well  on  my  way  to  the  Old 
Hall,  It  seemed  as  if  wings  were  added  to  my 
feet,  and  I  laughed,  with  a  fiendish  joy  that  I 
might  have  robbed  from  the  dead  Ziletto  himself. 
I  had  killed  him,  stabbed  him  to  death ;  yet  I 
supped  with  Father  Castelli  and  some  guests  at 
the  Old  Ilall,  and  talked  over  the  happy  events 
of  the  day,  the  glory  of  the  time,  the  beauty  of 
its  emblems,  the  blessed  ascent  of  the  Master,  and 
the  beauty  of  religion." 

The  penitent  now  paused  to  laugh  at  the  abject 
attitude  of  the  priest. 

"  It  was  a  right  merry  night ;  even  Castelli  un- 
bent and  joined  in  the  toast  of  Eyam ;  and  pres- 
ently I  retired  to  Francesca's  chamber,  and  we 
talked  of  Italy  until  morning.  I  said  we  would 
go  hence,  if  she  so  willed  it;  and  she  rejoiced  in 
the  happy  prospect  I  drew  for  her.  And  I  would 
have  had  her  prepare  at  once ;  but  on  the  next 
day  the  officer  of  the  crown,  or  whatsoe'er  they 
call  the  constable  of  the  district,  summoned  me 
tx)  appear  before  the  prowner ;  he  was  to  open  a 


364  THE   DAGCxEK   AND    THE    CROSS. 

court,  to  inquire  into  the  death  of  Giovanni  Zi 
letto,  who  had  been  murdered  at  a  lonely  spot  by 
the  vale  of  Middleton.  I  went  thither  with  the 
rest,  Father  Castelli,  and  several  of  ray  compa- 
triots ;  and  I  gave  my  declaration,  how  he  and  I 
had  parted  at  such  a  time  after  the  dancing  on 
the  Green,  how  he  had  promised  to  come  to  the 
Old  Hall  and  sup,  how  he  and  I  had  not  been  on 
the  best  terms  of  good  camaraderie,  but  how  we 
had  renewed  and  healed  our  differences  on  this 
day  of  our  art  competition  and  the  festival  of 
Ascension— all  lies,  my  father,  politic  lies,  for  I 
had  no  desire  to  play  the  martyr  for  him.  And 
I  told  them  how,  as  the  clock  struck  about  the 
timo  of  his  death,  I  was  talking  of  the  success 
of  the  festival  with  Father  Castelli.  And  the 
crowner,  or  king's  officer,  asked  me  if  any  one 
entertained  an  ill-feeling  against  Ziletto,  any  one 
of  his  countrymen ;  and  I  said  No,  we  were  a 
happy  family,  and  I  thereupon  paid  tribute  to  his 
art,  to  his  skill  as  a  musician,  to  his  manliness 
and  nobility  of  character,  and  broke  down  with 
emotion,  speaking  there  about  his  death." 

"  Hypocrite !"  said  the  priest. 

"Ay,  and  worse — possessed ;  for  the  devil  re- 
leased from  Ziletto  had  entered  into  me !  .  .  .  . 
And  there  sat  in  the  court — 'twas  the  room  of  the 
inn  where  Ziletto  had  been  wont  to  charm  the 
natives  with  his  songs — Eeuben  Clegg,  a  witness, 
like  unto  myself,  as  I  had  thought ;  but  'twas  not 
so — he  was  a  prisoner,  charged  with  the  murder 
of  Zilettc>-  charged,  and  on  the  most  fatal  evi- 


THE   DAGGEE    A:N^D    THE    CKOSS.  365 

dence.  They  had  fought,  not  long  before,  he  and 
Ziletto,  so  the  prisoner  had  acknowledged,  and 
Clegg  was  the  aggressor;  he  said  so  in  open 
court,  and  would  not  be  denied.  He  confessed 
that  he  hated  him,  and  believed  him  to  be  a  ruf- 
fian, a  seducer,  a  traitor  to  God  and  man,  and 
had  smote  him  from  his  path,  whereupon  Ziletto 
had  drawn  a  knife  upon  him,  and  had  accepted  a 
challenge,  and  would  have  been  willing  to  do 
battle  with  him  to  the  death.  But  he  did  not 
murder  him ;  none  who  knew  him  in  the  High 
Peak  Hundred  would  doubt  his  word  on  that. 
The  pale  beautiful  woman  who  now  called  herself 
Ziletto's  wife  related  the  particulars  of  the  tragedy 
with  all  truth,  and  Clegg  had  naught  to  add 
thereto.  The  simple  court  of  the  village,  know- 
ing many  other  circumstances  that  might  confirm 
Mary  Talbot's  evidence,  believed  her  declaration 
and  relieved  Clegg  of  the  infamy  sought  to  be 
branded  upon  him.  But  the  constable  of  Eyam 
and  his  more  influential  colleagues  of  the  Hun- 
dred regarded  her  statement  in  so  far  as  the  inci- 
dent of  the  murder  was  implied  as  mere  fable ; 
and  Clegg  w^as  thereupon  relegated  for  examina- 
tion to  a  higher  court,  such  perchance  by  compar- 
ison as  our  Council  of  Venice,  and  was  condemned 
to  death.  My  work  at  the  Old  Hall  being  sufii- 
ciently  finished,  we  left  the  great  Assize  town 
and  came  to  Yenice." 

"And  without  protest  to  stay  the  execution  of 
the  unhappy  man  ?  Without  one  word  of  inter- 
position ?    You  left  bira  to  die  in  his  innocence?" 


366        THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS. 

"  I  had  thought  to  have  quitted  Eyam  long  be- 
fore, but  something  held  me ;  Francesca  was  loth 
to  leave.  She  had  been  admitted  to  the  house  of 
the  betrayed  woman,  and  Mary  Talbot  had  found 
comfort  in  her  sweet  companionship.  For  one 
brief  moment  I  was  prompted  to  take  the  man's 
place,  to  offer  myself  up  to  justice,  but  only  for  a 
moment ;  my  heart  failed  me,  I  did  not  want  to 
die,  .  .  .  And  so  we  came  back  to  Venice,  and 
in  its  sunshine  and  peace  and  with  its  happy 
memories  I  tried  to  forget  England.  The  wist- 
fulness  and  sorrow  in  Francesca's  eyes,  i,  with 
selfish  confidence,  attributed  to  the  debt  of  peni- 
tence she  owed  me.  I  still  believed  she  could  not 
have  escaped  the  wiles  of  Ziletto,  but  in  truth 
'twas  my  guilty  secret  that  was  killing  her  ;  she 
nad  divined  the  truth  of  the  manner  of  Ziletto's 
death." 

"And  told  thee  so  in  words  ?" 

"  Nay,  but  in  appeals  that  I  should  confess  to 
thee;  and  in  one  sentence  that  gave  her  more 
pain  to  utter  than  to  breathe,  when  the  last  mes- 
sage came  to  her.  '  There  is  blood  upon  thy 
hands,'  she  said.  I  promised  I  would  unburden 
my  heart  to  thee;  and  now  thou  hast  heard  the 
black  and  damning  record.  .  .  .  And  she  is  no 
more,  and  I  am  alone  with  my  sins.  Not  all  the 
priests  in  Christendom,  nor  all  the  power  of  the 
saints  on  earth,  alas,  can  raise  up  to  life  again 
the  lovely  image  of  pure  womanhood  they  have 
carried  to  the  toinb,    Ala§ !  alas !" 


THE   DAGGEE   AND   THE    CK0S8.  SfiT 

CHAPTER   FOETY-FOUR 

HIS    AGONY    AND    AWFUL    PENANCE 

"If  'twere  God's  will  to  raise  up  thy  wife 
Francesca,  she  would,  in  her  sweet  generosity,  be 
standing  by  thee  in  humble  appeal  for  thy  soul," 
said  the  priest,  as  Roubillac  sank  upon  the  couch 
in  mental  and  physical  collapse.  "As  it  is,  it  may 
be  that  her  innocence  and  the  Mother  of  God's 
helpful  aid  have  given  her  the  privilege  of  inter- 
position for  thee  at  the  Throne  of  Grace;  for 
there  is  the  miracle  of  Heaven  and  the  miracle  of 
earth,  and  great  is  the  power  of  faith.  But, 
wouldst  thou  dare  to  hope  for  the  mercy  she 
could  win  for  thee,  thou  must  first  repent." 

"1  do  repent,"  he  said,  covering  his  face  with 
his  hands  and  speaking  with  difficulty.  "  I  do 
repent.  Absolve  me  soon,  for  I  feel  the  hand  of 
death  is  upon  me." 

"  Nay.  God  grant  thee  power  to  do  the  pen- 
ance I  shall  hold  thee  to.  Summon  thy  power  of 
will.  Arise,  gird  up  thy  loins,  and  make  thyself 
worthy  of  forgiveness  here  and  hereafter,  thou 
double-dyed  traitor  to  God  and  man  !" 

"  Heap  thy  words  of  wrath  upon  me,"  groaned 
the  penitent.  "As  I  revealed  myself  unto  thee, 
1  said, '  Surely  it  cannot  be  thou,  Roubillac,  whose 
sins  I  am  confessing.'  But  'tis  so,  and  I  am 
damned  to  all  eternity.  Ziletto  is  a  saint  com- 
pared with  the  foul  villain  who  slew  him.     Nay, 


368  THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CR0S8. 

Lorenzo,  I  ask  not  thy  pity,  nor  any  longer  thy 
absolution.  Let  me  drift  down  the  black  river, 
alone,  unpitied,  a  waif  of  the  pit  .  .  .  And  yet," 
he  continued,  slipping  from  the  couch  and  gazing 
at  the  Calvary  on  the  wall,  "  she  speaks  to  me,  I 
see  her  beckoning,  there  is  a  smile  upon  her  heav- 
enly face.  Oh,  my  God,  do  not  torture  me  I 
Slay  me,  let  me  parch  of  thirst  in  purgatory  or 
burn  in  the  bottomless  pit,  but  torture  me  not 
with  that  lost  loved  face !" 

"  Wouldst  win  her  back  again  ?"  said  the  priest, 
kneeling  by  his  side.  "Wouldst  win  thy  way  to 
the  Paradise  where  she  would  have  thee  join  he.r 
and  the  heavenly  host  ?" 

"Ask  the  pilgrim  dying  of  thirst  if  he  desires 
a  cup  of  water ;  ask  the  man  on  the  rack  if  he 
longs  to  have  his  body  free  from  agony." 

"  By  Christ's  Cross,  I  swear  to  thee,  Bernardo 
Roubillac,  thy  sins  shall  be  forgiven  thee  if  thy 
repentance  be  equal  to  the  penance  I  shall  ordain 
thee." 

"  Thou  bringest  water  to  the  parched  lips,  hope 
to  the  hopeless,"  said  Roubillac,  rising  to  his  feet. 
"  What  penance  canst  thou  devise  that  human 
feet  can  accomplish,  that  human  endurance  can 
avail  ?  Name  it ;  if,  as  thou  say  est,  it  shall  haply 
insure  such  forgiveness  as  will  encompass  heaven 
and  that  meeting  again  with  Francesca  in  sweet 
forgetfulness  of  the  evil  that  is  done,  name  it, 
Lorenzo,  priest,  friend,  judge,  name  it,  and  let  the 
rack,  the  wheel,  the  rope  do  their  worst!" 

"  Kor  wheel,  nor  rack,  nor  rope  shall  touch  thy 


THE   DAGGER   AND   THE   CROSS.  369 

body,  Bernardo ;  'tis  thy  soul  must  be  racked,  thy 
spirit  freed  from  the  shackles.  Listen  !  Give  me 
thy  dagger !"  E-oubillac  drew  from  his  girdle  the 
knife  with  which  he  had  slain  Ziletto. 

"  Is  this  the  weapon  with  which  thy  sacrilegious 
band  dared  anticipate  the  will  of  Heaven  ?" 

"  His  blood  is  still  upon  the  blade.  I  have  not 
dared  part  with  it,  though  it  has  never  been  un- 
sheathed since  that  night  of  vengeance." 

"  Talk  of  it  no  more  as  vengeance ;  say  that 
night  of  crime  and  infamy,"  replied  the  priest, 
holding  the  knife  in  his  hand  as  if  he  grasped  a 
crucifix.  "  Thou  shaft  depart  from  Venice,  in  the 
first  ship  that  offers,  and  take  thy  way  to  Eng- 
land, landing  at  the  port  thou  first  didst  make, 
and  thence,  on  foot,  without  scrip  or  purse,  make 
for  that  same  village  of  Eyam.  Thou  shalt  take 
this  carnal  weapon  in  thy  hand ;  it  shall  be  thy 
emblem  now  of  penitence  and  peace ;  thy  dagger 
shall  be  thy  cross  ;  so  shalt  thou  pass  into  the  land 
of  the  High  Peak  Hundred,  so  shalt  thou  enter 
into  the  aisle  of  their  Church  that  is  alien  to 
thee,  so  shall  thy  humiliation  be  the  greater ; 
and,  holding  aloft  thy  cross,  thou  shalt  confess 
thy  crimes  before  all  the  people,  l^ay,  thou  shalt 
say  unto  them  that,  since  God  did  not  strike  thee 
down  by  His  holy  altar  when  thou  didst  take  His 
name  in  vain,  the  Holy  Church  thou  hast  pro- 
faned may  yet  pronounce  that  union  inviolable. 
Answer  me  not.  With  all  the  power  1  have  I 
will  appeal  unto  the  Pope  himself.  It  may  be  an 
impiety ;  God  knows  if  it  shall  avail  aught ;  but 


370        THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS. 

tliat  is  thy  message  to  the  Talbots  and  the  peo- 
ple of  the  English  village.  Before  them  all  thou 
shalt  confess  the  murder  of  Giovanni  Ziletto. 
Thus  freeing  the  name  of  Clegg  from  the  taint  of 
crime.  Thou  shalt  thereupon  offer  thyself  to  the 
English  law  and  take  thy  punishment,  even  unto 
death.  So  shalt  thou  free  thy  soul  from  perdi- 
tion ;  so  shall  thy  soul  be  purified  and  take  upon 
itself  the  innocence  of  thy  youth,  and  be  worthy 
to  join  the  heavenly  throng.  And  thus  God  shall 
answer  the  celestial  prayer  of  Francesca  of 
Yerona." 

Roubillac  stood  forth  as  the  priest  delivered 
his  terrible  judgment,  and,  as  the  burning  words 
fell  like  Fate  from  his  lips,  the  penitent  braced 
himself  to  the  awful  penance ;  his  frame  seemed 
to  be  knitted  together  with  a  rejuvenated  vigor. 
As  the  penalty  was  great,  so  did  it  appear  as  if 
God  gave  him  strength  to  fulfill  it.  He  thrust 
back  his  gray  locks,  a  smile  of  resolute  faith 
played  about  his  eloquent  mouth,  his  face  shone 
with  the  impulse  of  a  great  resolve.  Putting  out 
his  hand,  he  took  the  knife  from  the  priest,  and, 
pressing  it  to  his  lips,  he  raised  it,  priest-like, 
before  his  eyes. 

"  Good-by,  most  reverend  Father  in  God !  May 
I  call  thee  friend,  Lorenzo  ?"  he  said. 

"  ISTever  better  friend  than  now,"  said  the  priest. 
"  Thy  salvation  is  half  accomplished.  When  thou 
standest  before  the  people  in  yonder  village  be- 
yond the  sea,  thy  soul  unburdened,  justice  done 
to  the  memory  of  the  innocent,  thou  shalt  see  the 


THE    DAGGER   AND    THE    CROSS.  3Y1 

gates  of  heaven  open  unto  thee,  and  there  shall 
be  joy  among  the  saints  of  God  !" 

"  Good-by,  Lorenzo !  Hadst  thou  been  Rou- 
billac  I  could  not  have  pronounced  so  great,  so 
noble  a  penance  upon  thee ;  but  thy  life  has  been 
spent  with  thy  Maker ;  to  thee  heaven  is  all  in 
all.  I  tried  to  make  my  heaven  on  earth  ;  hence 
the  long  and  weary  road  these  feet  must  travel 
to  find  it.  -N^ay,  I  do  not  murmur,  my  father,  I 
had  endured  a  greater  penance  to  be  assured  of 
the  future.'' 

"  The  road  shall  be  easy  to  thee,  Bernardo ;  for, 
if  'tis  long  and  weary  and  the  end  of  it  a  pang  of 
shame,  behold,  I  shall  be  upon  my  knees  the 
while,  and  I  know  that  our  Holy  Mother  will 
listen,  that  the  Man  of  Many  Sorrows  will  hearken 
to  my  prayer,  and  that  God  Himself  will  answer 
it,  and  make  thy  path  straight,  thy  penance  a 
blissful  ending  to  a  tired  life.  God  and  His  saints 
be  with  thee,  Bernardo  !" 

Roubillac  knelt  at  the  priest's  feet,  and  Lorenzo 
blessed  him. 

Then  rising,  the  penitent  said,  "  And  now,  Lo- 
renzo, give  me  thy  hand  apart  from  the  priest ; 
the  hand  of  secular  friendship,  the  hand  of  boyish 
camaraderie ;  'twill  comfort  me  to  know  that  I 
have  gripped  thy  hand  untrammeled  by  creed  or 
faith  or  priestly  vows ;  'twill  strengthen  me  to 
fulfill  that  judgment  of  thy  other  self.  Thus 
shall  I  depart  blessed  of  priest  and  man." 

The  priest  put  out  his  hand.  Roubillac  fell 
upon  bis  necfei    The  two  strong  men  wept  as 


372  THE    DAGGER    AND    THE    CROSS. 

men ;  and,  Avhile  Roubillac  went  forth  on  his 
terrible  journey,  Lorenzo  lay  prone  before  the 
Calvary,  in  a  mighty  appeal  for  him,  body  and 
soul. 


CHAPTER   FOETY-FIYE 

THE  EVOLUTION  OF  THE  DAGGER 

Now  the  population  of  the  mountain  village, 
when  the  plague  broke  out  in  August,  1665,  was 
three  hundred  and  fifty  souls.  On  the  eleventh 
of  October,  1666,  there  had  died,  of  these,  two 
hundred  and  fifty-nine.  Ninetj^-one  remained, 
on  the  brink  of  the  shadow  of  the  valley,  waiting 
their  several  turns  to  be  called. 

The  two  devoted  clergymen  of  the  village  had 
never  slackened  in  their  preaching  of  hope  and 
resignation.  Since  the  latter  da3^s  of  July,  the 
rector  had  held  his  services  in  the  open  air  at 
Cucklett ;  but  on  this  Sunday  afternoon,  next  after 
the  eleventh  of  the  month,  in  October,  he  had 
notified  his  flock  that  they  would  meet  on  the 
tableland  around  Clegg's  cottage.  This  was  in 
fulfillment  of  a  promise  to  Mrs.  Clegg.  It  had 
come  into  her  mind  that  the  rector  needed  phys- 
ical as  well  as  spiritual  refreshment.  She  was  a 
skillful  hand  at  broths  and  possets ;  and  she  had 
hoped  that  Mary  Talbot  would  also  remain  and 
take  tea  with  her  after  the  service.  But  Mary 
came  early,  and  if  you  could  have  seen  her  sitting 
by  the  fire,  at  Mrs.  Clegg's  round  table,  that  re- 


THE  DAGGER  AKD  THE  CROSS.        373 

fleeted  in  its  polished  surface  a  china  tea  set,  while 
a  copper  urn  sung  upon  the  hob,  you  would  have 
found  it  hard  to  realize  the  awful  gloom  that 
reigned  half  a  mile  away. 

When  Reuben  Clegg  entered  the  cottage,  Mary 
Talbot  rose  somewhat  formally  and  shook  him 
by  the  hand.  He  had  come  up  through  the  glen 
from  the  chief  outpost  of  the  cordon  sanitaire, 
along  the  path  which  the  Italian  troop  had  trav- 
ersed with  the  pack-horses  of  an  early  chapter  in 
this  history.  He  was  considerably  exercised  by 
a  powerful  desire  to  accept  the  Faith  of  the 
Church,  but  his  soul  was  still  rebellious  and  full 
of  doubt.  The  gloomy  man  at  the  outpost,  ready 
to  stop  any  venturesome  traveler  from  entering 
the  precincts  of  the  village,  had  been  recounting 
to  him  the  tally  of  the  dead,  and  the  virtues  of 
many  of  them  and  their  prayers,  the  appeals  of 
mothers  for  their  little  ones,  the  supplications 
of  husbands  for  their  wives,  and  all  the  bitterness 
of  it,  the  unwavering,  nay,  the  increasing  num- 
bers of  the  dead,  notwithstanding  the  prayers 
and  holy  services  of  the  Church ;  but  Reuben's 
heart  softened  at  the  sight  of  Mary  sitting  with 
his  mother,  the  firelight  glowing  in  her  face,  that 
was  further  illuminated  by  a  smile  that  gave  him 
pleasant  welcome. 

Mrs.  Clegg  took  an  early  opportunity  to  leave 
them  alone  for  a  while.  Then  Reuben  said  it 
was  good  for  her  to  come,  and  that  it  cheered 
him  to  see  her.  She  lool^ed  up  into  his  face  with 
a  wistful  inquiring  gaze,  and  psked  him  if  he  was 


374  THE    DAGGER    AND    THE    CROSS. 

more  hopeful  of  ihe  village  than  yesternight 
when  he  was  speaking  with  her  father.  Keuben 
only  replied  in  a  low  voice  that  she  was  his  hope. 
A  stray  beam  of  sunshine  pierced  the  great  elm 
that  overshadowed  the  doorway,  and  flickered 
for  a  moment  on  the  woman's  face,  and  Reuben 
saw  that  she  was  not  displeased. 

It  was  a  characteristic  autumn  day.  The  fad- 
ing of  the  leaf  gave  a  golden  glory  to  the  forest 
trees.  The  grass  was  green  in  the  meadows. 
There  were  stretches  of  purple  moorland  min- 
gling with  the  yellow  of  the  bracken.  A  silvery 
mist  hung  over  the  distant  hills.  Otherwise  the 
atmosphere  was  clear  and  blue,  with  only  a 
diaphanous  cloud  here  and  there.  The  crags  of 
the  dales  of  Middleton  and  Eyam  shone  white  in 
the  sun. 

The  cottage  door  was  open.  Mrs.  Clegg  passed 
in  and  out  occasionally,  her  heart  full  of  new  and 
joyful  hope.  Presently  she  cleared  away  her 
cups  and  saucers,  and  her  servant  brought  out  from 
the  kitchen  a  small  caldron,  and,  having  swung  io 
upon  a  bar  that  crossed  the  ample  fire-grate, 
busied  herself  with  cups  and  mugs  on  the  great 
oak  dresser.  Reuben  and  Mary  left  the  hearth- 
stone and  stood  in  the  doorway,  looking  upon  the 
beautiful  world  that  was  spread  before  them  in 
hill,  and  dale,  and  valley,  the  Derwent  flashing 
back  the  sunlight  and  the  blue  sky  between 
clumps  of  trees,  and  rounding  the  foothills  of  the 
mountains  with  mirrors  that  reilected  their  misty 
summits. 


THE    DAGGER   AND    THE    GROSS.  375 

Then  there  came  the  clergyman  in  his  gown, 
and  by  his  side  the  intiibited  Stanley,  his  white 
beard  falling  over  his  Puritanical  vestments 
With  them  were  Sir  George  Talbot,  in  his  bro- 
caded jerkin,  his  hat  and  feather,  and  his  gemmed 
baldrick,  and  Master  Longstaffe  in  his  Sunday 
clothes ;  for  he  held,  with  Sir  George,  that  it  Avas 
good  to  meet  the  enemy  with  a  cheerful  face, 
counting  on  God's  protection,  to  observe  the 
Sabbath  as  they  had  always  done,  with  their  cus- 
tomary change  of  raiment.  "  For,  an'  if  we  have 
to  go  down,  as  my  grandfather,  the  master- 
mariner,  used  to  say,"  Longstaffe  would  remark, 
"  let  us  go  down  with  flying  colors." 

But  these  men  were  the  exceptions  in  the  vil- 
lage. The  rest  lacked  neither  courage  nor  faith, 
but  they  took  on  the  gloom  of  their  surroundings ; 
and  it  must  be  said  for  Sir  George  and  Longstaffe 
that  the  angel  of  death  had  passed  over  their 
dwellings.  Longstaffe,  who  lived  with  his  sister 
and  an  old  maiden  aunt,  had  not  known  an  hour's 
illness.  Sir  George  had  lost  relatives,  but  more 
or  less  remote  in  blood.  It  might  be  that  Heaven 
had  deemed  the  Manor  House  so  deeply  smitten 
with  other  sorrows  that  it  had  been  spared  the 
visitation  of  the  prevailing  sickness.  In  this 
Master  Longstaffe  and  Sir  George  were  excep- 
tions indeed.  Their  fellows,  and  the  women  of 
the  village,  came  in  scattered  groups,  with  their 
children,  to  the  service  by  Clegg's  cottage,  the 
little  ones  clinging  to  their  mothers'  gowns  or  led 
by  the  hand,  no  less  sad  of  face  and  manner  than 


376        THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS. 

their  elders  ;  for  even  such  of  them  as  had  seen 
Death  before  he  appeared  with  his  burning  finger, 
signing  his  victims  with  a  purple  mark,  had  not 
seen  him  so  grim  and  loathsome  that  they  Jiad 
shrunk  with  terror  from  the  loving  hands  thai 
had  hitherto  made  their  little  lives  a  blessing. 

And  so  they  came,  creeping  up  the  glen  or 
along  the  steep  footpath  from  the  high  road  to 
the  still  well-kept  garden  of  Clegg's  cottage,  and 
gathered  about  the  great  elm ;  most  of  them, 
however,  keeping  as  far  apart  from  the  others  as 
might  be,  many  of  them  sad  figures  of  misery, 
sunken-eyed,  wrinkled,  hollow-cheeked,  weak  of 
limb  and  dull  of  eye,  but  with  clean  linen  and 
clothes  that  had  been  brushed  in  honor  of  the 
Sabbath.  The  deaths  had  decreased  in  the  pre- 
vious month,  and  October  had  come  in  with  an 
almost  hopeful  bill  of  health,  the  grim  conqueror 
having  been  content  so  far  with  only  one  or  two 
victims  a  day.  On  this  Sunday  it  w^as  noted  that 
two  days  had  elapsed  without  a  death,  though  not 
without  fresh  attacks.  The  rector  was  therefore 
justified  in  the  emphatic  words  of  confidence  in 
which  he  expressed  his  belief  that  they  had  seen 
the  worst  days  of  the  terror,  that  indeed  God  had 
at  last  hearkened  to  their  prayers.  There  was 
one  in  the  congregation  whose  heart  for  a  mo- 
ment hardened  at  this  acknowledgment  of  God's 
tardy  recognition  of  the  hourly  supplications  of 
the  people ;  but  he  caught  the  angelic  expression 
of  hope  in  Mary  Talbot's  face,  the  almost  joyful 
look  that  came  into  her  eyes,  and  he  put  away 


THE    DAGGER    AND    THE    CROSS.  877 

from  him  the  arrogant  thought,  and  joined  in  the 
hymn  the  preacher  gave  out.  But  it  was  a  weak 
and  mournful  vocal  effort  that  the  congregation 
made.  It  came  to  an  end  with  something  like  a 
sob,  as,  one  after  the  other,  they  observed  the 
unavailing  way  in  which  the  rector  tried  to  sup- 
press his  emotion.  Those  nearest  the  extempore 
pulpit,  that  Clegg  had  made  for  him  against  the 
cottage  door,  wept  with  him  as  the  great  tears 
coursed  down  his  cheeks;  for  the  hymn  was  a 
favorite  with  his  wife,  and  he  had  selected  it  on 
that  account,  but  had  not  been  able  to  withstand 
the  pathetic  remembrance  of  her  death. 

It  was  at  this  unhappy  moment  that  Mary 
Talbot  was  seen  to  be  gazing  intently  into  the 
distance.  Other  eyes  followed  the  direction  in 
which  she  was  looking.  Then,  gradually,  one 
after  another,  the  congregation,  as  if  glad  of  an 
excuse  to  turn  away  from  the  suffering  minister 
and  give  him  an  opportunity  to  recover  his  com- 
posure, bent  forward  toward  the  glen.  After  a 
little  while  they  saw  a  figure  coming  toward  the 
village  outpost  of  the  cordon ;  a  figure  that  ap- 
peared to  all  of  them  something  more  than 
human.  It  came  on  with  an  uplifted  arm,  and 
strangely  attired,  as  it  seemed,  in  a  long  trailing 
robe,  that  imagination  extended  into  the  shadow 
that  followed  it.  The  sun  appeared  to  meet  the 
figure  and  give  it  a  halo.  Many  thought  it  was 
Christ,  and  fell  down  and  worshiped.  The  rector 
saw  it  last,  for  his  eyes  had  been  dimmed  with 
tears ;  and  he  was  greatly  moved.     Arrived  at 


378  THE    DAGGER    AND    THE    CROSS. 

the  post  of  observation,  they  saw  the  sentine^ 
come  forth  and  warn  the  stranger,  raising  his 
arms  forbiddingly,  but  the  figure  came  on,  and 
now  they  saw  that  in  its  uplifted  hand  it  carried 
a  cross ;  and  many  of  the  people  called  out  with 
a  loud  voice,  "  It  is  a  prophet !"  And  Mrs.  Clegg 
said,  "  It  is  God's  messenger,  to  stay  the  plague." 

When  the  stranger  from  the  outer  world  stood 
before  the  sentinel,  the  guardian  of  the  pass  that 
led  upward  to  the  village  bowed  before  him,  and 
the  visitor  passed  into  the  white  cleft  in  the  rocks 
and  ascended,  disappearing  now  and  then,  after 
the  manner  of  the  Italian  procession  which  Clegg 
and  his  mother  had  watched  in  the  happy  days 
of  Eyam.  On  a  nearer  view  the  visitor  presented 
a  figure  of  much  dignity  of  carriage,  and  the 
cross  that  he  raised  aloft  was  clearly  seen.  And 
every  soul  of  that  grim  congregation  felt  that 
their  visitant  was  of  God,  and  that  a  miracle  was 
about  to  be  performed.  The  sudden  flush  of  hope 
in  their  hearts  already  straightened  the  backs  of 
many  that  were  bent  and  brought  color  once 
more  to  their  cheeks  and  lips. 

At  last,  when  the  stranger  entered  into  the 
presence  of  the  congregation,  none  of  them  knew 
him  for  the  clean-shaven,  academic,  priest-like 
Koubillac  of  the  Old  Hall.  This  man  wore  a 
beard  that  was  prematurely  gray.  His  hair  hung 
in  a  heavy  mass  about  his  face  and  neck.  His 
e3'es  were  sunken  deep  into  their  cavernous  sock- 
ets. His  face  was  long  and  thin ;  his  nose  bony 
and  prominent.     It  might  have  been  the  counte- 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS.        SY9 

nance  of  a  hermit  who  had  mortified  his  flesh ; 
and  yet  his  eyes  were  bright,  and  he  carried  him- 
self with  a  certain  uprightness  and  strength  that 
were  in  marked  contrast  with  his  ascetic  features. 
This  might,  however,  have  been  only  the  tempo- 
rary success  of  the  supreme  effort  he  was  making 
to  take  upon  himself  afresh,  and  with  physical 
dignity  in  their  presence,  the  great  burden  of  his 
sin. 

"  Nay,  rise  up,"  he  said  to  many  who  had  flung 
themselves  upon  their  knees  before  him,  regard- 
ing him  as  a  divine  being  sent  of  God ;  "  'tis  I 
must  kneeL     I  am  not  what  ye  think  me." 

He  spoke  with  a  foreign  accent,  that  sounded 
to  Mary  Talbot  like  a  baleful  echo  of  the  past. 

"  Your  warder  at  the  gate  has  told  me  what  I 
had  really  learned  among  yonder  hills  and  in  the 
villages  of  the  silent  valleys.  I  know  that  Eyam 
has  been  smitten  with  the  plague,  and  that  this 
open  glade  is  to-day  your  place  of  worship.  I 
came  to  seek  ye  assembled  in  your  church,  not  to 
bring  this  cross  as  a  revelation  to  you,  for  I  have 
knowledge  that  Christ  is  no  stranger  in  Eyam, 
though,  in  Ills  supreme  wisdom,  God  has  laid  a 
heavy  burden  upon  you;  but  I  come  with  the 
dagger  of  passion  and  revenge  as  an  emblem  of 
penitence  and  hope." 

Then  they  saw  that  the  cross  which  he  carried 
was  a  dagger  reversed,  the  blade  in  his  hand,  the 
jeweled  haft  of  it  raised  as  a  cross.  And  Mary 
Talbot  now  knew  the  voice  that  had  joined  her 
iiands  with  Ziletto  and  blessed  them.    She  shrank 


SSO  THE   DAGGER    AND    TltE    CROSS. 

back  to  the  side  of  Eeuben  Clegg,  who  put  out 
his  arm  and  supported  her,  unconscious  of  the 
revelation  of  the  man,  but  thrilling  with  a  happi- 
ness he  did  not  check.  When  she  recovered  from 
her  emotion  sufficiently  to  stand  alone  she  still 
leaned  ui)on  him,  and  he  took  her  hand  and 
held  it. 

"  I  am  that  Bernardo  Roubillac  whom  ye  knew, 
he  of  the  Old  Hall,  he  who  rewarded  your  hos- 
pitality with  ingratitude  and  crime." 

Sir  George  Talbot  and  the  rector  stood  forward 
in  amazement,  and  a  great  sigh  of  disappointment 
went  up  from  the  people. 

"  I  am  here  to  seek  the  peace  which  so  many 
of  your  brethren  have  found,  doing  penance  for 
the  sin  I  committed  against  you  and  the  Holy 
Church  of  which  I  am  so  unworthy  a  son,  and 
from  which  I  am  an  outcast  until  ye  have  heard 
me ;  and  then,  by  the  merciful  grace  of  Him  who 
died  to  save  all  sinners,  I  may  hope  to  be  taken 
back  again  into  the  fold,  and  pass  away  in  peace. 
'Twas  I  who,  sacrilegiously  taking  upon  myself 
the  office  of  the  good  Father  Castelli,  performed 
the  celebration  of  marriage  between  Mary  Talbot 
and  Giovanni  Ziletto !" 

As  if  the  confession  had  broken  his  heart  he 
staggered  backward  and  was  caught  in  the  arms 
of  Master  Longstaffe.  The  cross  fell  from  his 
hand.  Sir  George  Talbot  picked  it  up.  But  Rou- 
billac staggered  to  his  feet,  and  put  out  his  hand 
for  it;  and  Sir  George  gave  it  back  to  him.  As 
he  stood  forward  again  the  penitent's  vest  was 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CROSS.        381 

open,  and  it  was  seen  that  his  breast  was  bare — 
he  wore  only  the  coarsest  of  raiment. 

"  I  have  but  completed  half  the  penance,  which 
I  undertook  by  order  of  Lorenzo,  the  friend  of 
Father  Castelli ;  to  come  unto  you  by  sea  and 
land,  without  scrip  or  purse,  a  beggar  by  the 
way,  and  declare  my  sins  unto  you,  whom  I 
have  so  grievously  wronged.  The  hand  that 
stretched  out  from  the  darkness,  on  that  fatal 
night  of  the  meeting  of  Ziletto  and  Clegg,  was 
mine.'' 

A  shudder  passed  through  the  assemblage. 
Reuben  Clegg,  loosing  Mary's  hand,  stepped 
forward  with  a  cry  of  joy.  Sir  George  laid  his 
hand  upon  his  arm  and  restrained  him. 

"The  hand  that  struck  Ziletto  down  was  my 
hand ;  the  voice  that  cursed  him  as  he  fell  was 
my  voice ;  yet  I  had  the  heart  to  sit  by  and  see 
your  fellow-citizen  condemned  to  death  for  my 
erime." 

Once  more  Koubillac  staggered  back,  and  was 
held  up  from  falling  by  Master  Longstaffe,  who, 
perceiving  that  he  was  like  to  faint,  untied  the 
remaining  strings  of  his  vest  and  called  for  water  ; 
but  ere  any  one  had  stirred,  Longstaffe,  turning 
a  face  full  of  terror  toward  the  congregation,  that 
had  by  this  time  gathered  around  him  and  the 
penitent,  cried,  with  a  loud  voice,  "  Back !  He  is 
smitten  ;  the  purple  sign  is  upon  him !" 

And  even  as  he  spoke,  the  people  drew  away 
Irom  him  and  fled,  only  Sir  George,  the  rector, 
Clegg,  his  mother,  and  Mary  Talbot  remaining ; 


382!  tHE    DAGGER    AND    THE    CROSS. 

and  they,  Kcuben  Clcgg  alone  excepted,  shrank 
from  Longstaffe  and  the  sufferer  for  a  moment 
with  fear  and  abhorrence.  Longstaffe  was  a 
brave  man.  lie  had  faced  the  perils  of  infection 
with  a  stout  heart,  and  had  closed  the  eyes  of 
many  a  dead  friend  and  relative ;  but  a  sudden 
panic  of  fear  seized  him,  whereupon  Reuben 
Clegg  strode  forward  with  a  firm  tread,  and, 
taking  the  dying  man  into  his  arms,  carried  him 
straightway  into  his  mother's  cottage. 

Before  the  penitent  gave  up  the  ghost,  Sir 
George  Talbot  and  the  rector  took  down  the 
dying  deposition  of  his  guilt;  and,  as  he  passed 
away,  the  rector  prayed  over  him  and  held  the 
cross  of  hope  and  promise  before  his  eyes,  for,  he 
said,  "  God  is  no  respecter  of  persons.  To  Prot- 
estant and  Catholic  alike,  to  Presbyterian  and 
Orthodox  churchman,  to  every  man  who  believes 
in  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord,  the  Cross  is  the  talisman 
of  salvation." 

As  he  spoke  there  came  out  of  heaven  a  cleans- 
ing wind ;  and  from  that  day  the  plague  was 
stayed. 

When  spring  came  again,  they  dressed  their 
wells  and  hung  their  church  with  garlands,  dedi- 
cated to  their  martyrs,  and  in  the  autumn  they 
celebrated  their  Wake  with  a  gentle  and  becom- 
ing mirth  ;  but  never  again,  in  all  the  years  that 
have  passed  since  the  advent  of  their  Italian 
guests,  has  Eyam  renewed  the  cheerfulness  of  her 
former  state.  To  this  day  a  cloud  veils  her 
beauty,  and  the  monuments  of  her  martyrdom 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  CEOSS.        383 

challenge  the  pity  of  the  traveler  and  recall  to 
the  people  the  story  of  her  woes.  In  the  descend- 
ants of  Reuben  and  Mary  Clegg,  however,  the 
High  Peak  Hundred  loses  none  of  the  pious 
courage  that  has  covered  the  mountain  village 
with  a  pathetic  and  undying  fame. 


THE   END. 


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